YAW DEREVOCSID EHT.
That good-sized book that Father Peter had brought to the Castle with
him was no book of magic to exorcise devils, but rather a book that had
had some man-tormenting devil for composer: it had moulded already for
two centuries in the Madocsany Monastery library before the Jesuit order
was founded by Ignatius Loyola; at that time the Carmelite fathers were
in the abbey; the contents of this book must have caused them, too, many
a headache, for they wrote many pages of Latin commentaries to explain
this text of a few leaves which nobody understood yet. This much had the
investigators already worked out; that the characters were the same that
the Arabs employed in their secret correspondence, and the alphabet was
that known among Orientalists as "Lijakah." On the other hand, the words
which the letters formed were not to be found in any speech of any known
people on the whole globe. One linguist insisted that he recognized the
Arabic, another the Coptic, and a third the Mongolian in some one of
its forms. The words that most frequently appeared were explained by all
kinds of philological cunning. The title of the book was YAW DEREVOCSID
EHT. One word sounded like Arabic, and another was evidently of Turkish
origin; but what the whole meant no human understanding could decide.
Whole sheets were written over, with desperate and useless effort. It
seemed as if everybody must go mad who attempted its investigation. The
Jesuits later adopted the custom, whenever a monk ventured to demur
against a task assigned, of putting into his hand this book, YAW
DEREVOCSID EHT, and telling him that he might spend his time in quiet
linguistic studies, that he might acquire the language in which these
few pages were written, and when he had accomplished this, he might go
as a missionary to the people who wrote and spoke this language. But
this secret had never yet been penetrated throughout all the years in
which it had vexed and tormented students. And so to Father Peter, this
book had been given for a companion; in case he wished to escape from
the hard service in the castle, this book would be welcome in gaining
his exit through the closed door, and for that reason, Father Peter
spent whole nights over the thick book, and studied in succession the
writings of those who had gone astray before him.
The little son of the mistress of the castle slept with the monk in one
room, but beside the monk, the child must have the Fool too; for he
could not go to sleep unless the Fool told him fairy stories, and the
Fool well knew how. Often he sat until midnight by the boy's bedside,
weaving garlands of the Thousand and One Nights; this gave the monk a
chance to study the secrets of the Arabic writing. The young Lord had
very bad dreams. He dreamed of the fairies and witches in the fairy
tales, and would waken screaming. Often he dreamed with wide open eyes,
tried to escape, howled and wept, so that the monk and the Fool had all
they could do to quiet him and lull him back to sleep again. And this
was continued until early morning, when the boy fell into a deep sleep,
and the monk and the Fool could give themselves to rest.
The monk found his Arabic book of sufficient service in these night
watches, but for the Fool wine was furnished as a means of keeping
awake. And so they sat through the still nights beside each other at a
table; in front of the monk lay the open book and the large inkstand of
lead, and before the Fool stood a large pitcher and a tin mug.
"What would a man say, Monk," said the Fool once, "if he should see us
together this way every night? Which would he call the Fool and which
the wise man?"
"He would call you wise, and me a fool."
"If you would like, I could share my wisdom with you, for my pitcher is
full; there is wine in it."
"I do not drink wine."
"What have you there in front of you?"
"Ink."
"And I do not drink ink, but I'll taste your drink; give me some."
"Ink is not to drink."
"What is it for?"
"You see. Men dip quills in it, and write letters with it, and what is
in the letters causes greater delight to the human soul than your wine
to the human throat."
"Give me a swallow of it that I may learn its taste."
"Nobody can give of this drink."
"Is it frozen?"
"Yes, just that. It is written in a foreign language that I do not
myself understand."
"You do not understand! and you follow with your finger along the line
of those bird-tracks! Then this magic book is of no more value to you
than to me. I might just as well sit in your place, and follow with my
finger."
"You are quite right, Fool."
"Now I'll tell you a thing, and you can make two of it. If I can swallow
a little of your drink which you cannot pour out for your own self,
then will you taste mine which I do not begrudge you?"
"I can easily agree to that."
"Now then, wait a little. Before you came I had a student for companion
in these night-watches, who used to work there busily, just where you
sit. He was to have taught the young Lord to read and write, but every
day he got hit in the head with the inkstand. I watched this foolish
student carefully from the other end of the table, and saw that when he
took his goosequill in his hand, and began to make all kinds of
flourishes that he always worked from left to right, but as I observe
your finger you go from right to left, and in that way get everything
wrong end to. Now listen, and I will recite you a sweet song:
'Wolb sdniw hguor eht nehw neve,
Skaerc kao tuots eht nehw neve,
Woleb ssarg eht ni terewolf eht,
Skaerw yruf rieht tahw ton sraef.'
Did you understand? Arabic, isn't it? Now just read it backward and you
will understand at once.
'Even when the rough winds blow,
Even when the stout oak creaks,
The floweret in the grass below
Fears not what their fury wreaks.'"
"Quite right, Fool, but this is written in Arabic, and Arabic, like all
Eastern languages, is written from right to left."
"What is the title of your book?"
"YAW DEREVOCSID EHT."
The Fool burst into a loud laugh. "Didn't I tell you that I would drink
of your cup first? Now read from left to right just as you have done:
"YAW DEREVOCSID EHT means simply, The Discovered Way."
Father Peter's eyes and mouth stood wide open with astonishment. What
fifty wise men had not been able to guess in two hundred years, a fool
had found out in two minutes! Now Father Peter began to read as the Fool
had instructed him. He read two, three lines, a whole page; and the more
he read, the more his countenance lifted up, his eyes beamed, the
ascetic hardness of his features melted under the glow of an
indescribable fire; he began to pound on the table with his right hand.
"See, see!" cried the Fool, "The monk is drunk with his own wine."
At this the monk sprang up and closed the book.
"This book does not drive away the Devil, it summons him."
"Didn't I tell you I knew how to drink your wine? Now drink mine." And
he poured the beaker full and reached it to the monk. Oh, how well
Father Peter had once known this fiery drink, when he was not a slave of
slaves, but leader of the knights; then no wine was too strong for him;
he could drink on a wager with German or Polish cavaliers; but for two
years his lips had not touched wine. Wine is the foam of that fiery
stream that flows toward Hell. As thick as fish in the river, large and
small, so thick are sins, large and small in the wine. There must have
been in the book some kind of hidden fire, for as soon as the monk had
let one page of it steal into his soul, the torments of a burning thirst
were manifest in his countenance.
"Pass me your mug." His hand still trembled as he took the mug. At first
his dry lips just sipped the wine; it could not have been especially
good; but after two years of abstinence, the monk experienced a magic
effect, and the wine exhilarated him as if he tasted it for the first
time in his life. He sank back into his armchair, and in his upturned
face were mirrored visions of ecstacy. His far-gazing eyes beamed, and
on his half-opened lips trembled a smile. Where might his soul be
wandering now? Involuntarily his hand reached for the book and opened
its covers.
"Oh, woe, woe! Dromo the Devil is here! oh, woe, he will throw me into
the fire!" So screamed the restless, dreaming boy, tossing on his couch,
with his head hanging off.
The monk was roused, and shuddered, then ran to the boy, raised him,
laid him back on his pillow and quieted him with caressing words:
"Don't be afraid, little one, I am here beside you." The child stared at
him with wide-open eyes.
"Are you my father?"
"Yes, your spiritual father."
"My father, whom the Devil carried off to Hell? That's what my mother
said. Leave me, leave me! I will not go with you. Your hand is fire, and
your fingers burn me."
And yet the monk's hand was as cold as ice, as he stroked the child's
silken hair. By the bed stood a silver pitcher with a small gold cup:
the boy raised it to his lips and at once became quiet, as the
terrifying visions vanished. He wound both arms around the neck of the
monk and whispered to him, while still under the spell of the dream:
"Beautiful Knight, brave Knight! When you lift my mother into the saddle
with you, you'll take me with you, won't you, my handsome Knight, my
golden, diamond hero!" With that he fell into a gentle sleep.
"Just see what a good nurse you would make," said the Fool to his
friend, "Sometimes I have to spend a good half-hour rubbing his feet and
singing to him, and he is asleep at once. Have another mugful?"
"I don't like your wine."
"It's true you ought to drink yours, not mine." Father Peter saw with
horror that the large book was open again. He thought it was magic.
"Did you touch this book?" he asked the Fool.
"No, not if you were to give me this castle, and its handsome mistress
with it, would I open that book; it opened itself."
The red and blue letters were oh, so enticing! It was no sealed secret
now that they contained; for they were all familiar. The monk leaned
back in his chair and read the leaves of the secret writing until he had
read them to the end. And the farther he read, the more intense grew
that expression of unquenchable thirst, like that of a sick man who
dreams that he is in a desert and longs for a cataract to drink. Every
leaf of the book was a new catastrophe, the whole one unbroken delirium;
he did not look up until he had finished the last line of the last page.
Then he called to the Fool: "Bring me a whole bucket of wine."
The morning sun, which streamed in through the painted window, found
them both in the same place; the Fool was under the table: the monk sat
before his book, his head on his hands, his eyes wide open:--he did not
read, he did not sleep, but yet he dreamed.
In YAW DEREVOCSID EHT was no cabalistic writing. The writer at the very
first gave his reasons for employing this device. He had chosen the
Arabic letters so that all would try to read it from right to left, and
so fail to discover its meaning. In case it occurred to anybody to read
it from left to right, still, as the people of that vicinity rarely knew
more than Hungarian, no meaning would appear. In case anybody understood
English, it was hardly probable the Arabic text would be familiar too.
Only by rare chance could this mysterious book be deciphered. What it
contained was the description of a secret passage or tunnel that led
from the Madocsany Castle to the turreted walls of Mitosin. Midway was
the river Waag, which was here quite wide, but the tunnel passed under
the river bed, thus anticipating the Thames tunnel by about four hundred
years. If any one shakes his head at this, and begins to doubt that our
story is true, we will point out to such a doubter the secret way that
leads from a certain castle to a distant village, a veritable catacomb
which in a straight line would be fully a mile long, a work of the
Hussites. The vaulted passage-way is covered with mould, from which in
one place shines out two memorial tablets; one of stone bears the symbol
of the cooper's trade, as peculiar to the Hussite monks as the trowel
and the triangle to the Freemasons. In the stone vaulting, above is seen
a goose, the Hussite symbol; what purpose this tunnel served the
Hussites is yet to be discovered; but the object for which the
Madocsany-Mitosin tunnel was made, was clearly set forth in this YAW
DEREVOCSID EHT. Both castles belonged to Czech robbers and bandits in
the days when the Hungarian regent, John Hunyadi, with all the military
forces of the land, wore himself out trying to drive back the monstrous
host of the Turkish Sultan. He who fights with a bear has no time to
brush wasps from his face. The Czech could ravage the country at
pleasure, and when sometimes bands of noblemen, led by Hungarian Counts,
rose up against them to take vengeance for their plundering and reckless
deeds, suddenly every trace of the pursued would be lost. The larger
robber-hordes would withdraw to their strongholds and defy every attack;
the lesser ones, led by impecunious noblemen, left their drawbridges
down before the pursuing bands, and let them seek at will what they so
eagerly pursued. The enemy searched everywhere, in every corner, cellar,
loft, chapel, and crypt; and when they could find nothing more, still
lingered on, days and weeks, and then cleared out the storehouses, and
withdrew in unsatisfied rage. The entire robber-band meantime, with all
their stolen wealth and beautiful Slavic maidens, passed down into this
secret tunnel, and made their way to the other castle. And the
freebooters who guarded the Waag was ready to swear that not one of them
had passed over the river. It was true; they had gone under. But once
Mathias Corvinus ordered the two castles attacked at one and the same
time; the robbers fled first from Mitosin through the tunnel, only to
find themselves surrounded in Madocsany. It was at this time that the
monk wrote YAW DEREVOCSID EHT. He described in detail to whom the two
castles belonged, and where the entrances and exits of the tunnel were.
The book was intended to be a guide to the treasure which the robbers
had concealed in a chamber in the tunnel. Every point of the chamber was
clearly defined, all the small bags of gold and silver coin were
numbered, there were also given names of human beings, or beautiful
women as precious as jewels; the name of each individual was given, and
the families were enumerated from which they had been stolen. A
description was set down of the coat, cap, and even the finger-rings
that each one wore; who were of the Catholic, and who of the Lutheran
faith. If any one ten or twenty years later should discover them in the
subterranean dungeon, where, together with the stolen treasure, they had
been hidden away, he would know at once in which consecrated ground to
bury each one, what name to inscribe on each cross, what prayer to have
said for each soul's weal. The monk had faithfully cared for all, and
left the book in the archives of the convent. What happened to the
robbers, the chronicles do not tell: probably the same that happened to
the bandits of Dzuela. In a night attack, they were cut down by the
royal troops and any who were taken alive were at once hung. The victors
probably carried off enough gold with them so that they were satisfied
no more remained. The two entrances of the tunnel were so well
concealed, that six generations followed each other in both castles
without anybody's having a suspicion of the common mystery that bound
them. The YAW DEREVOCSID EHT, said everybody who looked at the writing.
But no one understood the words until they came to Father Peter.