Wherein carnival revels are described.
Out of this incident a great dispute arose. The worshipful
corporation held it as a point of honor that when once they had
condemned a man to death, that man's head must be severed from his
body. The College of Jesuits maintained, on the other hand, that
whoever had once taken refuge in their cloister could be removed by
no earthly authority from that sacred asylum.
And besides their respective rights in the matter, each party had
other reasons in _petto_.
Those who had got the government of the city through Kalondai's fall
could never feel absolutely at their ease so long as he remained
alive. They were afraid that the rapid turn of Fortune's wheel might
bring him to the helm again, and then, woe betide them.
But the Jesuits calculated that Valentine, out of gratitude for his
deliverance by them, would become their convert, in which case their
hands at Kassa would be greatly strengthened.
Both parties therefore thought it worth while to send
plenipotentiaries to the Palatine and the Supreme Court of Hungary,
petitioning for a decree in their favor.
Meanwhile the gates of the Jesuit cloisters were watched day and
night, so that Valentine might not escape.
There were two persons who made it their special business to watch
the cloister: Augustus Zwirina, who sent a drabant, and Henry
Catsrider, who sent one of his own apprentices.
The headsman had another reason, besides mere personal vengeance,
for cutting off Valentine's head. His own neck was in danger. The
world is so bad that even the headsman has enemies. Report said that
Henry was drunk when he came to execute the law's sentence, and that
was why he missed his aim. And the executioner has his own
executioner also, who strikes him in the face in the middle of the
market place, if he commits a fault sufficiently grievous to carry
deprivation from his office along with it.
Therefore Henry bowled up at the windows of the cloister every
evening, and threatened to quarter Valentine alive when he got him
into his hands.
The watchers allowed no suspicious person to leave the cloister
unsearched. It happened once that a servant died at the cloister. As
they were carrying the corpse away to be buried, the town council
ordered the coffin to be searched to make sure that Valentine was
not being smuggled out in that way, and a stringent order was issued
forbidding people to go out at night without lanterns, under the
penalty of imprisonment.
At last the judgment of the Supreme Tribunal on the asylum question
reached Kassa.
The judgment ran as follows: "Whereas the Jesuits have the right of
asylum for their cloister, but whereas it is forbidden them to
forcibly detain those of another persuasion, it is now hereby
declared that the privilege of sanctuary can only be accorded to
Valentine Kalondai on condition that he consents to be received into
the bosom of the Catholic Church as a priest, but if he remains in
his former faith he is to be handed over to justice. Three days'
grace, moreover, are allowed to the said Valentine Kalondai, within
which time he is to come to a decision."
With this politic document both the Jesuits and the Zwirina faction
were very well satisfied. The former calculated that the delinquent
who had escaped from the scaffold would much rather submit to the
tonsure than lose his whole head, and would rather renounce the
friendship of Calvin than dear life itself, and this they thought
would be a great triumph for them. But this very thing would have
been no small triumph to Zwirina and Co. also, for the whole
Hungarian party, which consisted for the most part of Calvinists,
would be humbled to the dust by such an apostasy. As a renegade,
Valentine Kalondai would be as good as dead and buried.
When Dame Sarah heard of this judgment, she said to Simplex, who
since the days of her calamity had been a constant visitor at her
house: "Go to my son, and tell him that I would rather see his head
severed from his body than his soul separated from my soul. He will
understand what I mean."
But Simplex had something else to say to Valentine, of which Dame
Sarah knew nothing.
Two days of the respite had already elapsed; the third was Shrove
Tuesday, the day of fools.
Valentine had as yet not declared his resolution, but he had now
only till vespers to do so. If he still remained silent, then it
would be taken as a sign that he preferred to submit to the sentence
of death.
Henry Catsrider had had the scaffold reërected. Valentine could see
it from the cloister window.
No one else, however, troubled himself about it, for it was the last
day of carnival, and all the world was thinking of the carnival
frolics. All day long boisterous masks paraded the streets--men
disguised as women, all sorts of guys dressed up on horseback; and
in the evening, they all met together to carry out the carnival and
bury him. The lads vied with one another as to who should make the
greatest fools of themselves. One lengthened his legs with stilts,
another made himself up as a giant. There were some who stuck
themselves all over with feathers, and strutted about like birds,
while others stuffed themselves out till they were as big as
barrels. One trumpeted, another rattled, a third drummed away on a
huge frying-pan.
The most attractive mask of all, however, was the carnival horse,
which consisted of two men. The first man made up the fore part of
the horse; he wore the horse's head, which was true to nature and as
large as life, while the other, who planted his head in the middle
of the first man's body, composed the rear part of the horse; both
were covered with a large horsecloth, on which lay a saddle with the
dependent stirrups, and the whole thing looked exactly like a real
horse. The man in front had all the fun of the thing. He could
trumpet whenever he felt inclined, he drank whatever people liked to
give him, and he held a large whip in his hand, with which he struck
at everyone who came too near him. But the poor fellow who formed
the rear part of the horse had a much harder billet. He saw nothing
and heard nothing, and was obliged to scramble along in a stooping
position wherever the man in front chose to lead him; and if his
leader did not look well after him, he got from everyone of the
passers-by a sounding thump on the hindermost part of his person. It
was not easy, therefore, to find someone willing to accept this
rôle, and generally some lubber of an apprentice, who had failed in
everything else, was pitchforked into it.
Now just at that time there was no such apprentice in all the
guilds of Kassa, so that there was absolutely no one to take up this
unpleasant rôle but the poor, good-natured Turk Ali, who could be
persuaded to do anything, and everyone could see his red slippers
peeping out from under the horsecloth as the carnival steed pranced
along. It was an open secret that the carnival horseman who rode
this steed was Simplex himself.
Behind the carnival steed came the carnival himself in a cart drawn
by two oxen. He lay in a red coffin, which was covered all over with
fools' caps, bells, and masks. Giants with heads as large as barrels
and gigantic storks walked alongside of him, carrying his escutcheon
on a pole, and behind the coffin marched a roystering band of
apprentices made up as buxom wenches, who offered their tankards to
everyone who passed and would absolutely take no denial.
The carnival's funeral procession stopped before the dwelling of
every guildmaster and every clergyman. The leader of the procession
pronounced a loud eulogium on every notability, to which the
notability in question responded by refilling the empty tankards
with wine or beer. On each such occasion the fool's sacristan awoke
the carnival in his coffin, lifted up the pall and gave him a drink.
The carnival was also an apprentice, and he certainly had one of the
very best billets, for all he had to do was to lie still and drink.
When the carnival's funeral procession arrived in front of the
cloister of the Jesuits, the two armed watchmen, the drabant and the
headsman's assistant, were still standing there, one on each side of
the door.
The waggish crowd pressed upon them from all sides, and while the
funeral car with its canopy, its cortége, and its banners surrounded
the door, one of the buxom wenches fell upon the neck of the drabant
and kissed and hugged him, while a giant raven with a pointed beak
forced his tankard on the headsman's assistant, and compelled him to
drain it to the dregs, finally bonneting him with the empty tankard.
All this lasted for a single brief instant, but it was quite long
enough for the cloister door to open and close again. What had
happened in the meantime was known only to the initiated.
Then the fools' procession went on more noisily than ever.
When they arrived at the Miskolcz gate, the superrector Zwirina and
his halberdiers barred the way.
"Whither are you going?" said he to the carnival horseman.
Simplex held a quill to his mouth, and squeaked through it in a
thin, chirpy, birdlike voice:
"We are going to bury the dead carnival."
But Augustus Zwirina was a knowing man, and he had his suspicions.
"Let me see if this carnival is really dead," said he.
And with that he tore the cover from the face of the figure lying in
the coffin.
The fellow representing the carnival rose in his bier, distended his
broad mouth, and grinned in the superrector's face. He was an honest
brushmaker's apprentice. The whole crowd burst into roars of
laughter and derisive yells. Everyone instantly guessed that the
superrector had sought for Valentine Kalondai in the carnival's
coffin.
Old Zwirina was very angry and ashamed.
"You may take him to hell, if you like!" cried he to the crowd of
revelers, and, by way of jocose emphasis, he gave the backward part
of the carnival horse a spanking thump, but received a kick in
return which sent him sprawling into the mud. The horse, which lost
one of the red slippers of its hind feet in consequence, then bolted
off like mad, while Simplex yelled like a cockney horseman on a
runaway nag, tugged at the reins, and implored the laughing crowd to
stop the beast. But the mob only chivied the horse all the more,
till it had far outdistanced its panting escort. When at last he
arrived in the neighborhood of the churchyard, Simplex blew his
trumpet with all his might, and at the shrill sound two stout lads
leaped up out of the cemetery ditch, leading after them a horse
saddled and bridled.
"Valentine!" cried Simplex, "ecce tuum Bucephalum!"
Then the man forming the hinder part of the carnival steed sprang
quickly forth from beneath the horsecloth. It was not the Turk Ali,
but Valentine Kalondai.
The condemned convict threw himself upon the horse and galloped off.
Simplex and the comrades who had assisted him in the execution of
this stratagem threw their masquerading costumes into the churchyard
ditch, and after making a wide circuit of the town, returned to it
by the Leutschau gate as if they knew nothing at all about it.
The Turk Ali had exchanged rôles with Valentine in the gates of the
cloister.