'Tis a true proverb which says that the devil sends
an old woman when he cannot come himself; but of
course it only applies to wicked old women, for
there are very many gentlewomen well advanced in
years who lead a God-fearing life and do good to
their fellow-creatures.
Mr. Zurdoki left Kassa in rage and fury, and there were very many
reasons why he should so leave it. In the first place the object of
his scheming had been frustrated by his enforced departure from the
city. He was to have spurred on to action there the party which
leaned to Vienna, and thus facilitated George Rakoczy's plan of
handing over to Ferdinand of Austria the trans-Theissian counties.
At Kassa, Mr. Zwirina was his willing ally, but now all
communication between them was cut off. He was also well aware that
the citizens of Kassa are very stiff-necked people. Whenever they
say "no," the Sultan, the Kaiser, and the Prince of Transylvania may
say "yes," in vain. For when the potentates lay their heads
together, and lay out the land in a way the people of Kassa don't
like, the sheriff of Kassa simply wets his fingers and rubs out the
proposed line of demarcation. Nor do they much mind being besieged
for a couple of years or so; they have often enough experienced
that. And when the Imperial general sends his shots into the city,
they shoot them back again into his camp, and at last undermine the
very ground beneath his feet. You had to be very clever indeed to
get the better of the citizens of Kassa.
The threads of Zurdoki's crafty policy had been woven together in
the letter deciphered by Valentine Kalondai, and Zurdoki was one of
those who were perpetually urging the ambitious George Rakoczy to
conquer Poland. The governorship of Cracow was the prize reserved
for himself, and the prospect of the loss of that lucrative post
piqued him exceedingly.
The second cause of his rage was his unsatisfied personal grudge
against those who had forestalled him, viz., Count Hommonai and
Valentine Kalondai.
In the third place he was in love with the wives of the count and
the castellan, and the old miscreant had got the idea into his
shaven head of corrupting them both, and to this idea he stuck
through thick and thin.
On arriving at Saros, he gave up all the time that was not devoted
to political intrigues to elaborating this evil design.
That Dame Kalondai had been married to her husband at Bártfa he had
already learnt from old Dame Zwirina, who had told him so
immediately after that memorable dance. He also knew from the same
person that Michal's face, during her earlier residence at Kassa,
had been disfigured by great brown patches, which had subsequently
vanished in a most marvelous manner. She had said then that they
were freckles, which always go away in winter; yet since then
another summer had come and gone, and yet not a single freckle had
reappeared.
From this Zurdoki's crafty intellect concluded that if the roses and
lilies on Dame Kalondai's face were not of artificial growth, the
disfiguring freckles must have been painted on designedly, and there
must be some reason for it.
He took the trouble to go all the way to Bártfa, searched on the
spot the records which testify to the marriage of Valentine
Kalondai, and learnt therefrom with whom pretty--nay, ugly Michal,
had been in service.
There they recollected the freckle-faced girl very well, and they
also told him what sort of a person it was who had brought the
damsel thither.
But to find this woman now was not very easy.
Red Barbara had certainly gone to Poland, where she had no reason to
fear that she would fall into the hands of Henry Catsrider, who, if
he came across her, would guess at once that she had set his house
on fire, and that the two charred skulls which had been found under
the débris were the remains, not of Barbara and Michal, but of the
two lads. And thus he could ferret out many other things, especially
if he took the trouble to investigate how the splendid garments and
jewels which he himself had bought to rejoice pretty Michal's heart
had found their way to the Cracow rag market.
Nevertheless Mr. Zurdoki persistently followed up his clew.
The witch, he argued, must have had associates in the country.
Witches form a sort of guild, and are closely united to one another.
So he searched and searched till at last he found the wife of the
Kopanitschar of Zeb. There he gave a great banquet, danced all night
with the Kopanitschar's wife, and after exhausting all his
flatteries upon her, well plying her with wine and loading her with
gifts, he learnt from her that she had indeed been acquainted with a
woman who had sprung up from the bowels of the earth one night with
a freckle-faced girl, and had then flown away through the air with
her. The Kopanitschar's wife also knew where Red Barbara was now to
be found.
In those days the more the witches were persecuted, the more they
multiplied. Many lonely old women, and even younger ones who were
separated from their husbands, not to mention a few young widows,
got it into their heads that they were witches. They took great
pride in the idea that men were afraid of them, and regarded them as
supernatural beings, and for the sake of this senseless reputation
did not even flinch from the horrors of a lingering death. There
were quack anointers among them, too, who distributed to the others
a salve made of stupefying, poisonous herbs, which, when well rubbed
into their bodies, took away their senses, gave them delirious
visions, and made their excited fancy believe that they were at
witches' sabbaths in the society of the devil; or gave them morbidly
voluptuous dreams such as haunt opium eaters, so that on awakening
they firmly believed that their dreams were solid facts, and thus
they openly confessed to deeds which they had only dreamt of doing.
To such magic ointment-makers the rank and file of the witches
looked up as their natural chiefs, went enormous distances to
consult them, and in fact never lost sight of them.
Thus Annie knew very well where Red Barbara was to be found,
although the latter had not considered it expedient to return to
Hungary.
With Barbara's money it had been lightly come, lightly go! She had
gone with her hoard of ducats and her costly dresses to Sandomir,
where she gave herself out for a great lady, lived riotously with
the professional thieves of the place, and after spending all her
ready cash, sold her jewels likewise. Then the pretty dresses went
too, till at last she found herself once more the same old tattered
hag she had been before, and began again to haunt young women to
tell them lies about their future, and give them bad advice in
return for clandestine ducats.
This was just the sort of woman Zurdoki wanted.
He commissioned Annie to seek out Barbara, and gave the latter money
for her journey, besides a letter certifying that she belonged to
his household. This certificate she was to show to all and sundry
who might stop her on the way. He was now quite certain of success.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, great changes were taking place at Kassa.
The day for the election of the sheriff had arrived, for according
to ancient custom a new sheriff had to be elected every year.
Valentine Kalondai, with God's help, had already advanced very far.
He had administered the office of castellan so excellently well that
everyone was persuaded that the Keszmár professors had acted very
unjustly in expelling him from college. But since discovering
Zurdoki's intrigues, he had risen so high in the opinion of his
fellow-citizens that, when the time for the election of the sheriff
came round, no one would hear of anybody else for that office but
him. Besides, said they, did not his father sacrifice himself for
the benefit of the town when he was sheriff, and Valentine was much
more fitted for the post than ever his father had been.
That the commandant, Count Hommonai, was a great patron of his, and
warmly recommended him everywhere, naturally did him no harm either.
Nevertheless, to appease the opposite faction and prevent the
citizens from quarreling among themselves, it was arranged that Mr.
Zwirina, senior, who had hitherto been curator, should be made
burgomaster, while Ignatius his son should become curator in his
stead. In this way all parties were satisfied.
All three elections took place in the most orderly way. First, on
Epiphany, the burgomaster--or, as he was then called, the
superrector--was appointed, and then the curator, who had a weighty
office to perform. He had to choose from among the most respectable
citizens a hundred persons, who were to duly elect the sheriff.
Fifty of these electors had to be Hungarians, and the remaining
fifty Germans and Slovacks in equal numbers. As to confessions of
faith, four-and-thirty of the hundred had to be Calvinists,
three-and-thirty Lutherans, and just as many Papists.
It was no light manner to get together one hundred electors who
should satisfy all these requirements.
At last, however, the hundred electors were all found, and then all
the gates were closed, and no one was allowed to enter the city.
The hundred electors assembled in the townhall, and agreed among
themselves as to the sheriff-elect.
Then they proceeded in perfect silence to the market-place, where a
car drawn by six horses, and covered by a black cloth baldeluir,
which made it look just like a hearse, awaited them. The retiring
sheriff had to sit down in this car, and the hundred electors walked
alongside it on foot, as if they were accompanying a corpse on its
last journey to the churchyard. And it was indeed, to the churchyard
that the procession went, and all the streets were thickly strewn
with straw, so that the rattling of the car might not be heard.
In front of the churchyard the representatives of the guilds, with
the symbols of their trade on long poles, were drawn up in two
lines: the butcher held his hatchet, the cobbler his last, the
tailor his shears, the mason his trowel, the metal-smelter his
mortar, the carpenter his ax, the joiner his plane. But the guild of
the organ-builders was represented by the image of its patron St.
Cecilia, fastened in a banner.
And all this time the town was as silent as the grave. No music, no
noise of any kind was allowed.
The electors and the guildsmen marched into the very center of the
churchyard, which was likewise covered with straw, and all stood
around the chapel in a half-circle. Then the retiring sheriff arose
in the car, which was laden with eighteen long, smoothly planed
boards of the hardest wood, and said to the burgesses:
"Gentlemen and judges, let thy servant depart!" whereupon the
curator answered in the name of the rest:
"Thou hast served us faithfully, depart in peace!"
Then the sheriff came down from the car.
"To whom am I to give these eighteen boards?" he asked.
"To the noble, valiant, worshipful burgher, Valentine Kalondai,"
replied the curator, in the name of the electors.
Then the car was turned round, and went back into the town as
silently as it came, and this time, not only the hundred electors,
but the representatives of the guilds also escorted it.
The car stood still before Kalondai's house, the doors and windows
of which were shut, as indeed were the windows and doors of all the
houses, and closed they must remain till the pealings of the
church-bells gave them the signal to reopen.
At the knocking of the curator, Valentine Kalondai appeared on the
balcony.
"What do the citizens require of me?"
"Admittance with our car and our tools," answered the curator.
"And what am I to do with your car and your tools?"
"Valentine Kalondai, the citizens of the town of Kassa have this
day, of their own free will, chosen you their sheriff. These tools
which we have brought with us are the symbols of our prosperity,
which we now intrust to your safe keeping. For a whole year to come
the care of our peace and our prosperity lies in your hands. But on
this car, according to ancient law and custom, we have brought you
eighteen boards: six for your coffin, in case you die in the service
of our city, but twelve for the fagots round your stake in case you
betray the town wherein you were born. Will you admit us within your
gates?"
"Come in, and welcome, in God's name!" said Valentine, and thereupon
he opened the gate of his courtyard, and the heavy car lumbered
rattling in.
Dame Sarah had overheard the conversation in the next room, and,
through the closed window, said to pretty Michal:
"I know not how it is, but I am so delighted that my teeth chatter,
and an ague shakes me."
"'Tis just the same with me," whispered pretty Michal.
But Valentine went down into the courtyard to the electors, and took
the eighteen boards, six of which were for a coffin for the
faithful, and twelve for fagots for the faithless sheriff.
Then they escorted the sheriff-elect to the townhall. There the two
eldest town-councilors led him by the hand to the council-chamber,
and bade him take his place in the sheriff's chair, at the upper end
of the table, which was covered with a green cloth. Then the four
youngest town-councilors seized the four legs of the chair and
raised it, Valentine and all, on to their shoulders, and carried him
out on the balcony of the townhall, while the hundred electors in
the council-chamber shouted aloud, "_Vivat!_"
At the third _vivat_ all the mortars in the market-place were fired
off, and immediately afterward all the bells in the church towers
rang out, the town band blew with the trumpets, the town drummer
beat the big drum in the square, in front of the cathedral, and the
civic watch fired three salvos out of their heavy muskets, while all
the people filled the air with their loud rejoicings. The straw was
swept away from all the streets, and fresh green grass, specially
mowed for the occasion, laid down instead. Then the procession set
out again from the townhall, the guilds going before with their
banners and the militia with their weapons, with the sheriff in the
midst under a canopy--and thus the guard of honor proceeded to the
churches of all denominations, as a sign that the new head of the
town would honor the creeds of all confessions according to law and
custom. There they prayed in the Hungarian, German, and Slovack
languages, and after making the circuit of the town, set the sheriff
on horseback, and placed the civic sword in his hand to signify
that, in case of war, he was ready, if necessary, to defend the city
by force of arms; whereupon they accompanied him back to his house,
while the trumpets blew and the bells pealed continuously. And by
this time all the doors and windows were opened, and thronged with
spectators.
Among the many trumpeters who strode along before the sheriff's
horse was worthy Simplex, who looked up from time to time at his old
friend, as if he thought that a part of all this pomp and splendor
belonged to him. And Valentine Kalondai looked down from his high
horse upon his old bosom friend, and beckoned kindly to him with his
naked sword; nay, when they came to his own gate, he stuck his
middle finger into his open mouth and pointed up at the house, which
means in all the languages of the world, "Mind you also come up to
the banquet!"
For the good old custom then prevailed that the elected sheriff,
when the solemn function was over, should entertain the whole of the
magistrates, not forgetting their lowliest servant, so that no one
took it ill of him in the least for inviting the civic trumpeter to
table also.
And now the women had all their work cut out for them, and indeed on
all such festive occasions they have by far the hardest part to
play. The men can very soon get through their hocus-pocus, and it
does not very much matter whether they gabble off their set speeches
like parrots, or stick fast in the middle of them like asses; but
what with cooking and baking and roasting, the poor women have no
rest or repose for a whole week beforehand, for the comfort and
convenience of the guests depend entirely upon them, and they must
see to it that no one has the slightest cause to grumble. For the
last three nights they had scarcely closed an eye.
A good old sumptuary ordinance provided that the lesser burgesses
should be first provided for in roomy tents erected in the
courtyard, while the notables, among whom the commandant and his
lovely wife took precedence, were regaled in the family mansion
itself.
Besides these two groups of guests, there was yet another sort,
consisting of the beggars of the town.
These ragged ones limped in a long row through the streets, and
stopped in turn at the bottom of the flight of steps which led up to
the door of the pantry. On the lowest of these steps stood pretty
Michal, and gave them a huge loaf apiece, while Ali, the Turk,
filled each one's jug with as much beer as it would hold.
After the male came the female beggars. The Calvinists saluted
pretty Michal with "God give you blessing and peace!" the Papists
with "Praised be Jesus Christ!" and pretty Michal returned each
salutation most sweetly. Whenever she saw a beggar-woman with a
child in her arms, she gave her two loaves instead of one, and
although herself a Protestant, she nevertheless always answered the
"Praised be Jesus Christ!" with a devout "For ever and ever, Amen."
And the beggars said to one another as they went away, "Oh! what a
beautiful, good, blessed creature! May God preserve her for a
hundred years to come!"
All at once there came hobbling along among the beggars, a woman
whose head was swathed in a red cloth, who held one hand to her
mouth, and looked at the young woman with her large piercing black
eyes, as if she would have devoured her.
When this strange shape reached pretty Michal, she whispered in her
ear, with a mocking, singing drawl, not the usual salutation, but
the words, "Praised be--the pretty lady!" And then, for a single
instant, she showed her face, which was distorted by a devilish
grin.
Pretty Michal collapsed utterly. Had not the faithful Ali caught her
in his arms, she would have dashed her head against the stones.
The beggar with the red cloth had disappeared in the crowd. Most
likely no one had observed her, but, at any rate, no one troubled
himself about her.
On hearing that pretty Michal had fainted, all the women came
running together, and carried her into the house. Then, with many
winks and smiles, they whispered to each other over her body. When a
young wife faints there is no reason to be alarmed. The
indisposition goes away of its own accord. The more initiated
playfully take the husband to task for it, and he generally blushes
and looks stupid enough. When a young wife swoons away, she is not
so very desperately ill after all. The women soothed and calmed
pretty Michal, and told her not to exert herself and not to sit at
table. They could drink to her health, or rather to her speedy
recovery, without her assistance.
So the banquet went on right merrily without her, especially after
Dame Sarah had received the reassuring intelligence that there was
really nothing the matter, the young wife only required a little
rest. They drank to the prosperity of the land, the town, and all
the distinguished guests present, without exception. The new sheriff
had to clink glasses and drink bumpers with so many people that his
happiness was almost too much for him. Even the two Zwirinas made
Latin verses in his honor, so that his triumph that day was
complete. At last Count Hommonai himself raised his beaker, and
looking at Valentine, cried: "God preserve the man whom I love most
of all my fellow-men, and with whom I am ready to share all my
riches and all my honor!"
Then Valentine raised his tankard and proposed this toast:
"God preserve the friend who has shared with me all the
contrarieties of life, my good comrade Simplex!"
And the commandant drank with the sheriff to the health of the
trumpeter, although one or two fastidious gentlemen turned up their
noses in consequence. But the majority liked Valentine all the
better for not forgetting his lowly comrade in the hour of his
greatest elevation.
Very late at night the merry company dispersed, and Greek fire
flamed on all the bastions in honor of the happy day.
Valentine hastened to his Michal. His brain was reeling. He was
brimful of the splendor of that day's triumph. In such a condition,
a man deems it impossible that his own spouse, the second half of
his soul, can perhaps be just as full of grief and despair as he of
joy.
Beaming with pride, he advanced toward the bed on which pretty
Michal lay. But she, with a horrified face, fell upon his neck, drew
his head down toward her and whispered in his ear what she could
have screamed aloud for terror:
"Let us fly. Red Barbara is here!"
At these words, Valentine's face grew pale, and the pride of his
heart was gone.