THE FOOLS OF THE CASTLE.
That very day went forth from the Convent the answer to the letter of
the Baroness. It read: "For the high office of instructing our future
baron, Father Peter has been chosen. He will install himself to-morrow
at the castle."
For this new rôle, Father Peter received a new costume. No one would
have recognized the beggar-monk of yesterday in this figure of to-day,
clad in silken robe with buckled shoes; as, with a large book under his
arm, he turned from the highway into the entrance of the Madocsany
castle, barely a thousand paces distant from the monastery.
This castle was formerly shunned by everybody. In the first place, the
court swarmed with hunting dogs of every kind, which dashed out at every
arrival, and fairly tore the travellers from their carriages; then the
young lord had a custom of lying in wait with a few intimates, and
shooting at passers-by with an air gun, on a wager; then inside the
court was a peacock, which flew at everybody's head and tried to peck
out his eyes. Man and beast were trained here to harass the stranger.
The day when the arrival of Father Peter was expected, the mistress took
care to have her beloved child's air gun put away, for the round Jesuit
hat would be altogether too convenient a target; she had had part of the
pack of hounds driven into the poultry yard, leaving out only the
blood-hounds and pointers; but she could not herself take care that a
respectful reception should await the pious father, for just at the time
of his arrival, the forester brought word that the night before the lord
of Mitosin, with a troop of hunters, had crossed the Waag and shot down
deer and other game; and when the gamekeepers tried to withstand this
mad chase, they had been bound to trees, and the game had been dragged
away.
The mistress of the castle fell into an ungovernable rage; sent at once
for her stewards and agent, and prepared for a frightful retaliation by
the most violent means.
Between the castles of Madocsany and Mitosin was an ancient feud that
each lord took care to settle with his own hand. But when one of these
domains passed into the hands of a woman, the situation became worse;
for woman is less yielding than man. The preparations for revenge
caused the mistress of the castle to forget entirely the arrival of
Father Peter; so he was received by nobody but the dogs and the fools,
in which latter class must be counted the young lord.
Nine blood-hounds and pointers plunged for the monk when his sable
figure appeared in the gateway. But the monk did not act like those
people who in their fright run this way and that, throwing out their
arms, and provoking the spectator to laughter, but he remained standing
quietly before the dogs--he had owned a fine pack once himself--and when
they came baying around him, opened his large book and closed it
noisily.
The dogs thought he had shot, and dashed off in every direction to hunt
for the game, while the monk walked calmly into the castle court. The
young Lord, the haiduk, the master of the hounds, and the fool were
entertaining themselves playing ball.
"See, here comes the instructor," cried Matyi, the haiduk. "What a
marvel that the dogs have not eaten him," said Petyko, the master of the
hounds, greatly astonished. "Hit the monk in the back with the ball,"
the young Lord called out to the fool, who had the ball in his hand, and
if he hit him it was bound to leave a big spot on the silken robe.
Hirsko, the fool, did as bidden. The monk caught the ball, and threw it
back at the Fool with such force that his bearskin cap flew off his
head. This pleased the young Lord greatly.
"That's a fine monk! Come here, Monk. So you know how to play ball! How
the devil is that? I thought monks knew only how to pray. Can you throw
a ball as far as Matyi? He is a strong fellow. See how far the ball has
gone; he almost hit the window. See what you can do."
Father Peter took the bat and struck the ball with such force into the
air that it flew over the roof of the castle. All were carried away with
admiration.
"That's a rare monk!" said the young Lord. "I can learn to play 'Longa'
and 'Meta' with him."
"Does your Honor know Latin already?" asked Father Peter of the boy.
"Latin! What's that got to do with this?"
"Why, 'Longa' means long, and 'Meta' means a goal. So in playing we add
to learning."
"Really?"
"We make a kite out of what is to be learned, and while we let the kite
go, the learning remains."
"So you understand kite-flying, do you? Have you ever seen a kite as
large as mine? See how stout the cord is to hold by. Matyi can break
this the first time trying. Show us, Matyi."
"That's nothing," said Father Peter, and with that he put the cord
together three times and broke it.
"My, that's a strong monk! What's the Latin for kite?"
"Draco."
"And paper?"
"Charta."
"And the frame?"
"Arcus."
"I know all that. That's quite easy, Hirsko."
"It's got to be easy," said the Fool, an ugly dwarf, with a monstrously
large head and hideous countenance. "The gracious Lady has given orders
that the instructor shall teach the young Lord everything within one
year, in such a manner that the young Lord shall not have to study
anything."
"That is always the way, you know," said Father Peter. "Every young Lord
keeps a small boy to be whipped, and when the young Lord does not know
his lesson, the boy receives the punishment in his stead."
"You shall be this boy," said the young Lord, laughingly, to the Fool.
This system of pedagogics pleased the young Lord very much, and the monk
by this means had won his favor in the highest measure. The Fool was the
shrewdest of the company, for he saw that this new man would throw the
old favorites out of the saddle, for he knew better how to manage the
hounds than the master of hounds, was stronger than the haiduk, and a
better joker than the Fool. He wanted to bring the monk to confusion.
"What did you bring that great, stupid book with you for?" he asked,
opening the folio, which bristled with a strange handwriting, terrible
to him. "Is the young Lord to learn the book by heart."
"No, my son; with this book I drive out devils."
"Then you have come just at the right time. Go up to our gracious Lady;
she has three thousand devils; you can test your art with her."
All four burst out laughing.
"Yes, do go, monk," teased the young Lord, "let us see whether you dare
appear before my lady mother. She understands Latin when she tries. Do
go, monk."
And all four crowded around the spiritual director. One shoved him,
another pulled him, and so they dragged him through the entrance hall,
hall-ways, and saloons, in the direction from which came the loudest
noise; but when suddenly a door opened and through this unexpectedly
appeared the Lady herself, all four ran away, to crawl behind the stove,
the table, or the highest chest, leaving Father Peter standing alone in
the middle of the saloon before this fire-breathing dragon. The gracious
lady had pushed open the door with the heel of her yellow riding boot,
and when she saw the monk's figure standing in the dark background, she
stamped violently with her foot.
"The Devil could not have brought a monk here, more opportunely." With
that she turned toward the threshold with her back to the monk, and
began to scold her retinue in the adjoining room. "What are you staring
at there! Off with you, and do as I order! The peasants are to arm
themselves with scythes and pitchforks, and the halberdiers are to mount
their horses. Haiduks, hunters, peasants, off with you to Mitosin! Set
the red cock on their roof. If they have other game, they shall have
fire for it. Fall upon them while they are drunk; throw them into the
water to sober them; set fire to their towers on all four sides, even if
the dead Florian himself should rise from his grave to beg for them. But
if you catch the master alive, swing him up on the cross bar over the
well. Now off with you! I'll go too; saddle my horse. Where's that
miserable priest? What the devil does he want? Let him show his face."
The Lady's face was flaming red with anger; even on her brow blazed the
red spots; her nostrils quivered; her eyes flashed so that she could not
see; her lips drawn into very ugly shape. Then too, her hair was
disordered, her brown locks changing into red, gleamed on her temples in
small bright red curls, and above them a high cap was fastened with four
pins that gave the appearance of four horns. Her stately figure showed
strength and passion, still further heightened by her costume. Her
bodice, extending below the hips, was of brown and yellow stripes two
fingers wide, a true tiger's skin, and instead of the stiff ruffle
around the neck was a border of feathers. Below the hips hung a dagger
from a Turkish girdle; and the skirt of heavy flowered brocade was
festooned with strings of gold and silver coins that rattled as she
walked; the skirt, made short in front, as she stamped her foot, showed
the leg above the yellow riding boots, in bright red trousers. This was
her appearance when she cried: "Now let that cringing priest come here!"
Father Peter came near, and said gently: "May peace and blessing rest
upon this house." At this voice, the lady let fall her dagger and
raised her hands to her brow, either to shade her eyes for better sight,
or to conceal her face. The monk came nearer to her, and said in
friendly tones: "Anger ruins beauty. Cleopatra was never angry, and so
remained always beautiful. Rage disfigures the countenance, draws
lasting wrinkles, and leaves its imprint on the skin." In one instant
the rage had vanished from the lady's face, the blazing red became
white, her brow relaxed, and her lips resumed their lines of beauty. Her
flashing eyes remained fixed, like those of a sleep-walker, on the
countenance of the speaker. An instant had sufficed to effect this
change; at the last words of the Father, the Lady even tried to smile.
Now the monk came still nearer, so that he could say in a whisper: "What
unseemly revenge have you planned, gracious Lady? Who will consent to
quarrels and firebrands? You are only preparing a new enjoyment for the
one who has wronged you. A sword wound does not hurt a man. If you
really want to take vengeance on this man, have a quantity of game shot
and send it to him as a present. In this way you will shame him."
Like the sun beneath a heavy cloud, gleamed a smile on the face of the
Lady. "True, true," she said, with a look of joy. "I will revenge myself
that way. Steward, treasurer, forester; go at once into the forest;
kill as much game as you can put in a wagon, and take it to Mitosin. Say
to the lord of the castle, I send him my greetings, and since he is so
desperately hungry for my game, I send him still more of it, that he may
have enough."
Every one was astonished at this sudden change, including those in
hiding behind the furniture, who were now quite convinced that the monk
knew how to drive out the Devil with the aid of the large book he
carried under his arm.
"Mother, don't give in to him," cried the young Lord, dashing out and
seeking shelter beside his mother. Then happened to the young man what
he had never experienced before; his dear mother gave him a box on the
ear. Yes, the spoiled darling, the only son, the child of her heart, who
never in his life before had heard the word, "Don't," received his first
box on the ear.
Stunned and amazed, he quite forgot he ought to cry. "Off with you.
Treat him as your Father. Kiss his hand." And his mother's half-raised
boot made the boy understand that she was quite ready to use her heel as
a stimulus. But the monk intervened.
"Gracious Lady, treat him as your child." With these words he leaned
forward, and enveloped him in his robe and the child sought refuge in
the arm of his protector, and began to cry bitterly. "Do not cry, my
little one, have confidence in your mother; she loves you. A mother's
chastisement brings blessing to the child. Now take the book, and carry
it to the room designed for me."
This commission so surprised the child that he forgot to cry. Curiosity
overcame sorrow. He was delighted to take into his hand the wonderful
book whose contents the devils themselves feared, as if they had
themselves to spell it out, or take a whipping. Off he ran with his
book, and the three fools after him. As soon as they could, they stopped
to study the strange characters painted in gay colors on the parchment.