CHAPTER XIII

CONCLUSION

The people dwelling in the mountains prayed and praised God in the midst

of their peaceful habitations; only a faint echo of the terrible battle

below reached their ears.

On the fourth day everything was silent. The clouds that had obscured

the sky dispersed, and as the dwellers among the glaciers looked down

from their mountains, lo! a great ocean extended before and around

them--a serene and silent watery mirror, whose wide horizon was

conterminous with the vast firmament--mountain, valley, continent, what

had become of them? whither had they vanished?

The eleven glaciers were also separated by the waters, and had become

eleven islands. The whole mass had sank insensibly some thousands of

feet. The warmer atmosphere of the lower regions had begun to melt the

layers of eternal snow, and a new life--a new vegetation--was

developing. On the first spot left clear by the snow Bar Noemi planted a

linden--under the shadow of which he erected his hut, and the larger

the leafy tabernacle grew the greater grew Bar Noemi's family, and

God's blessing grew with it.

The group of these eleven mountains form the Canary Islands. Of all that

vast continent, these mountains alone remain. Their fauna and flora, the

conformation of their coasts, prove that this group of islands is merely

the remnant of a submerged world.

Their later discoverers perceived with astonishment that a peculiar race

of people inhabited these remotely situated islands--a race hardier and

comelier than the men of other nations; a race intelligent and virtuous,

which adored an invisible God, was chaste in its love, simple in its

life, and content with its lot. It believed in the resurrection of the

body, for it embalmed its dead, and laid them in funeral vaults.

Moreover, it possessed the arts, and had an alphabet of its own, unlike

that of any other people in the world.

This group of islands, moreover, possessed two other most wondrous kinds

of inhabitants--a race of dogs and of yellow sparrows. Singular enough,

both these species of animals remain dumb in the place of their birth,

as if some vow prevented them from uttering a word; but they recover

their voices if removed to other climes. The tiny canary birds--those

gentle, amiable, sprightly songsters come from here. This is their

proper home. With us they sing as sweetly, as meltingly as once they

sang in Triton's luxurious city, and many a heart has been saddened by

their songs without exactly knowing why.

The linden-tree planted by Bar Noemi still stands on the island of

Ferro, whence the geographers draw the first meridian. The tree, which

measures 160 feet in circumference, is already two thousand years old,

and whole communities repose beneath its branches. Travellers tell us

that the leaves of this tree imbibe the atmospheric vapours, and then

distil them upon the earth below, thus watering the waterless island

night and day. Even to this day the inhabitants hold the tree holy.

Between Europe and the New World there now extends the infinity of a

vast ocean, and whoever thinks about it at all must needs say to himself

that a whole continent is missing there. Plato has described it; Solon

has sung of it; the Arabs speak of it in their fables, and the

Carthaginians forbade it to be mentioned under pain of death--what more

do we want? It must have existed!

Now, however, white sails fly over it.

But often, when a calm prevails on the ocean, and the dreamy mariner is

brooding over the past, wondrous phenomena reveal themselves in the

heated air before his eyes. On the dun-coloured horizon appear the dim

outlines of cities with towers turned upside down, whole palm-forests

with their crowns reversed. Wondrous, magnificent shapes are these, of

which the existing world knows nothing, and these inimitable edifices,

these boldly aspiring cupolas and domes undergo the strangest

metamorphoses before the eyes of the astonished seafarer, till a light

breeze in an instant dissolves the whole panorama, and nothing is

visible around the rocking ship but the endless, the interminable sea.

VIII

THE HOSTILE SKULLS

As this story is of a somewhat horrible character, I would duly impress

it upon my more timid readers that, if possible, they had better leave

it unread. If, however, they have invested their money in the book in

which it appears, they might at least _not_ read it just before going to

bed, for I don't want the responsibility of their nightmares on my

shoulders. This, at any rate, I can say: the event recorded actually

happened. The fact that I have kept it a profound secret till now does

honour to my powers of self-control.

When I was a young man, a budding novelist, in fact, as my printed

transgressions of that period sufficiently testify, I was much addicted

to subjects of a mystic, supernatural tendency; tales of mystery, gloomy

prognostications, fatal accidents, had a peculiar attraction for me. I

had a shorter beard, but longer hair, a smaller experience but a larger

credulity than now, _then_ it was just as well, _now_ it would not be

quite as well.

I was thus a very young man when, in the course of a holiday ramble, I

arrived, quite alone, at night-time, at the mansion of one of our most

enlightened magnates, whom, for the sake of anonymity, I will simply

call Squire Gabriel.

We had seen and heard something of each other. I was a belated traveller

far from any hostelry, while he was a householder and lived by the

roadside, I wanted a night's lodging, he had a castle. All these

circumstances gave me a right to call upon him, and he received me right

heartily, a guest, indeed, was no great rarity at _his_ house.

Squire Gabriel was reputed to be a bit of an oddity, who dearly loved

his joke. He had a library, being a well-read man; he had a room full of

all sorts of stuffed birds and beasts which he had himself shot, and

whose names he knew; he had an expensive picture-gallery, interesting

family archives, and he was very much interested in machinery--not the

sort of machinery that may be applied to useful purposes, but that which

serves for pure amusement, and is meant to produce startling effects.

For instance, he had standing by the door an iron man, who, whenever

anybody opened the door, at once raised his musket and steadily took aim

at the intruder till the door was shut, when he respectfully lowered his

weapon again, to the mortal terror of timid visitors. On the hall table

mysterious clarionettes played all sorts of tunes whenever any one

leaned his elbows on it. There was a certain chair from which it was

impossible to rise up again if once you sat down again, with so firm a

grip did it hold you.

I had often heard tell of these harmless jests, and was quite prepared

not to be surprised by them. But Squire Gabriel did not exhibit any of

his jests to me. On the contrary, his conversation was grave, and he

led me into the library, introduced me to his very curious and, indeed,

really valuable collection of manuscripts, and showed me his armoury,

his collection of seals, to which he ingeniously attached a good many

singular historical anecdotes. Indeed, I was so impressed that I begged

his permission to take notes of these anecdotes.

"Certainly, do so by all means," he said, with the utmost courtesy, and,

indeed, it seemed to afford him great delight to see me recording in my

note-book what he had just told me of the dames and heroes of bygone

days, of whom all that remained was a spur or a slipper, actually before

our eyes.

What a rich source of historical information. Certainly I had no reason

to regret my coming here.

Squire Gabriel had every reason to be perfectly satisfied with the

interest I displayed in his historical recitals. His store, too, was

absolutely inexhaustible, fresh _data_ came pouring forth every moment.

In such diversions we spent the whole evening.

At supper-time we were joined by the squire's man of business and one of

his secretaries, who withdrew after the meal, and Squire Gabriel and I

remained alone again.

He ordered tea to be brought into the Gothic chamber, and with the tea

beside us, we may have gone on talking for a small matter of another

hour or so, or, rather, he talked, but I listened.

The Gothic Room was the largest chamber in the castle wing. It derived

its name from its curious old-fashioned furniture, and from a couple of

mediæval niches in the Gothic style. The spacious fireplace in the

centre of it was piled up with crackling logs, and close beside it were

comfortable armchairs and sofas, in which we reclined at our ease and

sipped our fragrant Pekoe.

The hearth was warm, the time was late, and the fatigues of travelling,

I must confess, had made me so drowsy, that more than once during the

cheerful conversation of my host, I caught myself in the act of

resolutely inclining my head towards the cushion of the sofa.

Squire Gabriel observed my condition, and said, with a smile--

"You are very sleepy, I see."

I had no reason to be insincere, so I replied that it was the very place

in which to go to sleep.

"I should not advise you to do so, however," remarked Squire Gabriel,

gravely, "there is something queer about this room. I may tell you," he

added, "it is not very friendly to strangers, who have even died in it

now and then."

These words completely cleared slumber from my eyes.

"Ghosts visit it, perhaps?"

"It would be more correct to say they dwell in it, and they are visible

day and night."

Curiosity made me quite awake now. I began to look about me.

"When I say ghosts, I would not have you imagine anything so stupid as

spectres wrapped in sheets and chained with fetters. The _thing_ that is

here is a perfectly simple object which can be held in your hand.

Perhaps you would like to see it?"

What a question! I was immediately on my feet.

"Where's your ghost? Let me see it!"

Squire Gabriel led me to one of the niches which was covered by a green

curtain, and drawing aside the curtain, pointed out to me two skulls

which were covered by a round glass, and, curiously enough, were turned

back to back.

I had seen something of the sort before, and was by no means inclined to

recognize anything ghostly in them. They were simply fragments of a

human skeleton, as little alarming as an extracted tooth, of which it

never occurs to anybody to be afraid.

"These are the skulls of two brothers, the Counts Kalmanffy, to whom

this property formerly belonged, and who built a wing of the castle.

Their history is very tragic. They were constantly opposed to each other

and wrangling about the possession of the castle, and one day, soon

after a reconciliation, the elder brother suddenly invited the younger

one to be his guest, and when he had well filled him with strong wine,

drove a long nail into his head while he lay there in a drunken sleep.

The nail is also here. A servant who was privy to the evil deed

subsequently betrayed the elder brother, who was beheaded for his crime.

His body they buried as usual under the place of execution, but the

severed head they allowed to be buried in the family vault, where the

bones of the murdered brother were also deposited. The heads of the two

brothers were placed side by side in a niche, and so these mortal

enemies, who could not endure each other during their life-time, were

turned face to face. On one occasion, however, some one who had to do

some work or other in the vault, was amazed to perceive that the heads

of the two brothers were now turned back to back. The fellow was not

very frightened. He had had a good deal to do with human remains, and

fancied some truant rats might have effected the change, so he simply

put the two skulls face to face again. Next day he went down to have

another look at them, and again they were turned in the opposite

direction.

"And so it went on for a whole week. The fellow turned the skulls round

every day, and every night they changed their positions of their own

accord. The guardian of the vault got quite ill over it. He began to

pine and grow melancholy mad, till at length the young chaplain took the

bull by the horns, and asked him what ailed him, or if he had anything

on his mind.

"The old family retainer, with some agitation, confessed the ghostly

secret, on account of which he was in a fair way of becoming a ghost

himself.

"The parson was an enlightened man, and was determined to convince the

superstitious old fellow that he was mistaken, so he went down into the

vault himself to look at this alleged marvel.

"There, then, the two skulls were, turned back to back, and the old

servant solemnly swore that the evening before he had placed them cheek

by jowl.

"'Impossible,' said the clergyman. 'A lifeless body has no volition.

These things are nothing but two pieces of bone, without nerves, without

muscles: they _cannot_ move of their own accord.'

"And, to make his words the more impressive, he seized one of the skulls

in order to lift it, and show the doubter that it was merely an inert

mass, incapable of movement.

"At that very instant the skull gave the clergyman's little finger such

a nip that he could scarce disengage it from its teeth.

"After that the vault remained closed, and soon afterwards the old

family servant died. As for the clergyman, he carried about with him

till his death the mark of the bite on his little finger.

"The matter was kept secret, and so well kept indeed, that not a soul

knew a word about it until I came into possession of the property. One

day, while I was rummaging about in the old library, I came across the

diary of the clergyman in question, in which he described the whole

case, concluding his mysterious tale with the assurance that the door of

the vault had been walled up in such and such a place. Since then a

granary had been built up close beside it, and the locality had been

completely forgotten.

"I immediately searched for the walled-up door. It was easy to discover,

it had been so minutely described, broke it open and descended into it

myself, and at once discovered the two hostile skulls, just as they had

been placed, turned back to back.

"I confess, despite my naturally cynical disposition of mind, I had not

the courage to lift up either of them; but I had the whole slab of stone

on which they reposed, raised just as it was and placed in this room.

"Since then I have had many an unbelieving guest who has taken the whole

thing for a joke, and has tried to convince himself of its reality with

his own eyes. Although I don't very much like jesting with this sort of

thing, nevertheless when I really come upon a strong-minded man who is

not afraid of running the risk of becoming melancholy mad for the rest

of his days, I allow him to sleep in this room and persuade himself with

his own eyes that the skulls which have been placed face to face in the

evening, the next morning are found to be turned back to back again.

"This takes place regularly. My visitors are constrained to believe in

this mysterious fact, and since the death of the clergyman already

alluded to, none has dared to ridicule it."

Squire Gabriel could perceive from my eyes that I also had a great mind

to be convinced of this mysterious circumstance with my own eyes. Show

me the youth of two and twenty who would not be interested in such an

enigma!

I begged and prayed him to allow me to sleep in this room, and turn the

skulls face to face.

Squire Gabriel did not attempt to dissuade me. My curiosity gratified

him, he lifted the globular glass, very cautiously turned the two

death's heads face to face, and then covered them again with the glass.

Then he indicated the alcove where I should find my couch, wished me a

good night, and left me alone.

The squire and his secretaries lived alone in the top-floor of the

spacious castle. The servants slept in rooms on the ground floor.

Between the Gothic room and their dormitories lay two or three halls of

various sizes, so that I may be said to have been left alone in my wing,

and was as far as possible from every human being.

Despite my excited fancy I had still philosophy enough left not to let

any one play pranks with me. First of all I examined the walls; there

was no visible means of entrance into the room. Then I thoroughly

investigated the niche; it was absolutely inaccessible. It was carved

out of a single slab of hard marble, and was all of a piece. The door I

bolted, and then drew the sofa before it and lay down on it. I was now

immediately opposite the curtained niche.

Moreover I took an additional precaution. The silk curtain which covered

the niche was hitched upon some ornamental moulding, and hung down in

picturesque folds. I took out my pocket-book and made a sketch of the

curtain down to the very last detail.

Now, that was a very artful idea of mine.

If any being, clothed with a jacket, were to try to get at the skulls,

he was bound to disturb the curtain; but the slightest contact would

disturb its folds, and destroy its resemblance to the drawing of it in

my pocket-book.

Then I piled some fresh logs on the fire, placed the candelabra beside

me on a little one-legged table, and flung myself on the sofa with the

firm purpose not to go to sleep.

I knew that tea had the property of keeping a man awake, so I filled

myself another cup. I added to it a spoonful of rum. I hardly tasted it.

Yet at other times a spoonful of rum would have been quite enough to

upset me. I poured in still more. Even that did not make it stronger.

Then it suddenly occurred to me that there was a flask of cognac in the

cupboard beside the fireplace. Squire Gabriel had pointed it out to me

a short time before, but then I had not required it. It was very curious

I should feel the want of strong drinks just at that moment.

I got up to fetch it. I tasted it. It certainly was strong, very much

so. I filled up my cup with it, and then it occurred to me that there

was no wire screen in front of the fire. A spark might pop out of it any

moment. I went to the fireplace straightway, and began pushing back the

burning embers with the poker. A spark popped out and burnt my hand.

Then I shut the iron register, and went back towards my tea-table.

A nice surprise awaited me.

On the very sofa which I had drawn up for my own use two gentlemen were

sitting whom I seemed to know very well, but whose names I could not

remember. One of them had short, light, curly hair, and an angry red

beard; the other had black hair and a long dangling moustache, but was

otherwise clean shaved, and a round bald patch was visible on the top of

his head.

The first of these gentlemen, who was stripped to the shirt, wore a

silken vest with gold buttons; the other was dressed in a short linen

jacket, bravely embroidered at the back.

These two gentlemen were sipping at their ease the cognaced tea which I

had prepared for myself. First one took a sip and then the other, the

pair of them out of one cup, quite fraternally.

Amazement first, and then fear, seized me. I durst not approach them,

but sat down in a dark corner, from whence I watched to see what they

would do.

The two gentlemen glared oddly enough at each other, and presently they

began to converse.

"Good evening, Kalmanffy minor!"

"Good evening, Kalmanffy major!"

"Then you're here again, Kalmanffy minor?"

"And here I remain, Kalmanffy major!"

"This castle is too strait for the two of us."

"There would be lots of room if one of us dwelt beneath it."

"Beneath it? I suppose you mean in the cellar?"

"No, deeper still; in the family vault."

"We must settle this business once for all, Kalmanffy minor."

"Yes, and now that we are quite alone is the time, Kalmanffy major?"

"Do you prefer pistols or swords?"

"I should like both; but I fear they might betray us."

"True, firearms make a noise, and cold steel makes blood to flow; we

want no such witnesses."

"A cup of poison, and drawing lots for it--that would be best."

"Not bad; but it leaves corpse-marks on the face."

"I've a better plan. Here is strong drink before us; let us drink each

other down."

"And then?"

"Then, whichever of us keeps sober shall do for the other. Here is a

long nail and a hammer. If it be driven well into the skull, none will

be a penny the wiser."

"True, especially in your case, who have such thick hair; but I have a

moon on the top of my head."

"Never fear. I'll make a good job of it."

I'm bound to confess that a cold shiver ran through me as I listened to

this conversation. Even if I wanted to escape there was no means of

escaping, for they sat right in front of the door opposite which I had

drawn the chair and the sofa.

Then they both began drinking out of the same cup, first one and then

the other. They filled it up for each other from the cognac flask right

up to the brim, so that the liquid flowed over the edge of the cup.

"Your health, my brother!"

"Your health!"

Each of them always said this with such a devilish smile as he watched

his brother gasp and choke as he swallowed the intoxicating stuff, while

his head waggled backwards and forwards, and his face turned a ghastly

yellow or a flaming red, and the veins on his temples stood out in green

and blue knots like strained cords.

"You are drunk, my brother!"

"Nay, 'tis you."

Meanwhile the candles burning on the table began to burn low. It seemed

as if a bloody mist were enveloping their flames, which gradually

assumed a dusky lilac hue. The two faces suddenly went quite pale, the

two heads suddenly grew quite shaky; it was hard to say which of them

would fall down first.

The flames of the candles had now passed into the darkest green, and in

that green light the two faces seemed of a deadly pallor. They were no

longer able to converse, but glared at each other with stony eyes, and

kept offering each other the intoxicating drink.

Suddenly the candles flared up, and then went out. The two figures

instantly disappeared.

The moon was shining through the painted windows in all her glory; the

burning logs in the fireplace cast a rosy light into the semi-darkness.

I was alone in the room.

I dreamt it all, I said, and I laughed at myself, though my teeth kept

on chattering. It was a dream, a dream, I kept on reassuring myself. Now

I will go and lie down. I'll take off my things, I'll get into bed, I'll

draw the bed-clothes over my head, and then let them go on haunting as

much as they like. They may rise from their graves and roam about to

their hearts' content. I shall simply take no notice.

The moon shone with a beautiful white light; the fire gave forth a nice

rosy illumination. I had no need of the candles, which I could not have

lit had I wanted to, for they had burnt down to the very socket. I shall

be able to find the bed quite comfortably. So I undressed myself

leisurely, wound up my watch, and drew aside the curtains of the alcove

which contained the bed, in order to lie down on it.

Horror rooted me to the spot.

In the bed lay the two brothers side by side; two fearfully distorted

corpses. One of them lay on his back, but with his face looking down,

and in his bald head the head of the nail shone in the moonlight like a

dark blue spot; the other brother lay beside him with his head turned

towards the sky.

Horror, I say, paralyzed me. I had not strength to move a limb. I would

have cried out, but I had no voice. I would have seized the bell-rope,

but my hand was powerless. I would have fled, but my legs weighed me

down like lead. My chest was oppressed, my legs were benumbed. At last,

with a most desperate effort of my will, and after frightful torments, I

pronounced something or other--and immediately awoke.

Those who have suffered from nightmare will understand what a torture it

is under the circumstances to utter a word.

It was morning, and the sun was shining through the tall poplars. There,

too, I was lying on the sofa in front of the closed door, where I had

laid down in order not to fall asleep.

The candles really had burnt down to their sockets, and the teacup was

really empty. However, I was inclined to believe that I had put nothing

into it the night before, and that tea, rum, and cognac had all been

simply dreamt.

But--now comes the most terrible part of this ghost story.

What had been happening in the niche all this time?

The curtain was precisely as I had sketched it, not a wrinkle of a fold

had been changed in it.

Therefore, nobody could have laid hands upon it.

Still completely possessed by the memory of my nightly visions, I

approached the mysterious niche, and I cannot deny that my hand trembled

as I drew aside the curtain.

And, behold . . . the two mortally hostile skulls were turned back to

back!

A cold shudder ran twice or thrice right down my body.

This, at any rate, was no dream. I _saw_ it. It was broad daylight.

Outside, the usual daily noise and racket had begun, and at that very

time I saw before me the most frightful of phantoms.

Then things really do happen beneath the sun which our philosophy cannot

account for?

Then it is a fact that those two lifeless skulls live and hate and turn

from each other even after death?

I don't believe it, it is impossible, it is not true.

I see, I tremble at it, and yet it is not true.

It _is_ true, and yet I don't believe it.

I then bethought me of the story of the clergyman who was said to have

discovered the subterranean marvel, and dared to put his hand on the

head of the spectre, and then carried about the marks of its teeth to

his dying day.

I don't care.

I'll let it bite me too.

I lifted the glass from the skulls. My heart may have beaten violently,

I don't deny it. I stretched out my arm. My hand came in contact with a

cold jaw-bone. I raised it and turned it round.

Hah!

What had happened? Had it bit me?

I should have flung it away with all my heart if it had; but at that

instant I discovered that it was provided with a cunningly constructed

piece of clockwork, which made it turn round if you pressed a spring.

The other skull was provided with a similar contrivance.

At the breakfast-table I encountered Squire Gabriel. As usual he was

very solemn, so was I.

"How did you sleep?" he inquired, with sympathetic courtesy.

"Thank you, very badly. I drank lots of tea yesterday evening, and it

plagued me with all manner of spectres."

"And what did the skulls do?"

"Well, they seem to have quite distinguished themselves for my special

edification, for they not only turned their backs on each other, but

even stood on their heads."

At these words, Squire Gabriel laughed greatly.

"So you looked inside them, eh?"

"I did."

"Now, look here! Forty persons have slept in that room; all of them have

had experience of the marvel, and not one of them has looked to see if

there was anything in the skulls."

"They feared, perhaps, that it would fare with them as with the

adventurous clergyman."

"Were you not afraid?"

"Certainly, a little, but my curiosity was even greater than my fear.

And now I very much regret I did look."

"Why?"

"Because I am an historical anecdote the poorer."

At this Squire Gabriel laughed more than ever.

"And I will make free to ask another question. Are the anecdotes, which

I noted down in my memorandum-book yesterday, equally authentic?"

"You may boldly light your pipe with them," replied the nobleman, with a

smile.

I only did not do so because I am not in the habit of eating smoke.

Only one thing Squire Gabriel begged of me. I was not to mention my

discovery to any one else, so that he might be able to give a salutary

shock of terror to others also.

I promised that I would keep the secret for ten years.

The ten years expired last week, so the story of the two ghostly skulls

can now become public property.

IX

THE BAD OLD TIMES

In those sad times when the accursed, merciless Tatar was ravaging our

good country, two good Hungarian brother warriors and kinsmen, Simon and

Michael Koppand, after the devastation of Tamásfalu, of which great city

not a vestige remains to the present day, escaped somehow from the

burning and massacring, and taking refuge among the bulrushes, lay

concealed therein for many days and nights, often up to the tops of

their heads in water, for the evil, bloodthirsty enemy scoured even the

morasses in search of fugitives, with the firm determination of

extirpating every Magyar from the face of the earth once for all.

Thus, hiding by day and skulking by night, they made their way gradually

but steadily towards the west, so far as the course of the stars pointed

it out to them, hoping still somewhere to find a refuge. They had no

other food but the eggs of wild ducks and moorhens, and whatever they

might find in the nests of the marsh-birds that they lived upon.

One day, when they had already gone a long way and thought that they had

well distanced the Tatars, they ventured to emerge from the wilderness

of rushes, and by the beautiful light of the moon they then beheld,

some distance in front of them, a tower.

That means there must be a town there, they thought, let us make for it,

there we shall be in safety, so far the Tatar has not come. For every

man in those days believed that then, as had been usual at other times,

every robber horde, bursting into a kingdom, when once it has well

loaded itself with booty, returns again as a matter of course to its own

country.

All night, then, they proceeded in the direction of the tower before

them. When they drew close to it they perceived for the first time that

this tower had no roof; but when they got closer still they saw that all

the houses of the town had been levelled with the ground, and when they

entered the street they saw that none dwelt there, but wolves and savage

dogs bayed at them from behind the pillars of the gates, within which

every sort of human shape was lying, shapes without heads, women

transfixed with darts, mothers with long, dishevelled, black tresses

covering their children with their dead bodies.

The youths covered their eyes with horror at this spectacle.

But still there they must remain till the night of the following day,

concealed somewhere, for dawn was now close at hand and it was not good

to come out in the open in the bright sunlight.

So they went into the church that they might hide themselves there,

either in the crypt or perhaps in a sacristy.

Hah, the whole church was a funeral vault. There they had cut down the

pride, the flower of the nation. Women, men, and children lay heaped up

together among the burnt rafters, the pale moon shining through the

roofless and dilapidated building illuminated them.

Inside they had to wield their swords with right good will to drive out

the wolves who had come hither to perform the office of grave-diggers,

and who as often as they were chased away came back and bayed at the

open door.

Then said Simon, the elder of the two brethren: "Brother Michael, these

evil wolves will give us no peace, and because of them we shall get no

rest, and yet, for sheer weariness and want of sleep, we can go not a

step further. Lie you down, therefore--your best place will be close

beside the altar, for there God is not far from you, and I meanwhile

keep guard the door and keep the wild beasts away from you, and when I

am aweary, then you shall rise up and watch over me."

Michael sought him out, therefore, a place near the altar, and lay down

beside the dead body of a warrior, it looked just as if the two of them

were sleeping, or as if the two of them were dead. Simon, meanwhile,

gathered together some fallen darts from the field of battle, found him

a bow, and leaned against the lintel of the doorway. Whenever the

hideous monsters approached, he shot an arrow among them, and every time

he did so a fight arose between the wounded wolf and the others, which

he thought had bitten him. This disgusting combat lasted amidst ugly

snarling and snapping for about an hour, when an old wolf began to howl

hideously, as if by way of signal to his fellows, who howled back again

from every part of the town, and then suddenly the whole lot of them

made off, scattering in every direction.

Simon speedily conjectured the cause of this sudden flight, hastened

back to his brother and cried--

"Awake, little brother! I hear the hoot of the horns, the Tatars are

coming back."

There was no other hope of escape than for the pair of them to lie down

among the dead bodies with their faces turned earthwards, thus quietly

to await the new-comers.

Presently they appeared amidst the ruins of the church.

Ofttimes it happened thus. The Tatars thought to themselves: The people

who have taken refuge fancy we have nothing more to seek in the

devastated towns, and will come out of their holes, let us go and hunt

them down. And in this way very many perished.

It was a man of that very town who led them back. An inhabitant of a

Christian town had become a Tatar, joined himself to the enemies of his

faith and country, and went before to show them the best places to

plunder.

And this wicked, accursed man was now wearing the Tatar dress, a

high-peaked fur cap, white breeches, and murdered the Tatar tongue to

give them pleasure--God grant the words may stick in his throat and

choke him.

The two brethren could gather from their talk that the evil renegade had

led the enemy hither in order that he might show them the entrance to

the crypt in which the fugitive population had concealed their

treasures, and then walled up the door behind them. They immediately

broke it open, and with a great racket and uproar dispersed among the

discovered treasures, breaking in pieces whatever was too large to be

taken away whole. The renegade got for his share the cover of a pyx,

which the vile wretch stuck in front of his cap by way of ornament.

"Let me once get a fair hold of you!" thought Simon the warrior to

himself. He was looking on at all this with half an eye as he lay among

the dead bodies.

Then the murderous Tatars piled up a fire on the altar, slaughtered a

horse in the church, broiled it in hunks on huge spits, and squatted

down to devour it. It was an abomination to behold them. The Tatar

convert ate along with them.

Suddenly a burning ember from the crackling fire lit upon Michael the

warrior's extended palm. Simon the warrior saw it well, and trembled

lest his younger brother might make some movement under this burning

torture, when both of them must needs perish. But warrior Michael, very

nicely and quietly, closed tightly the palm of his hand, so that nobody

noticed it, and stifled the burning ember so that not even its expiring

fizzle was audible.

Towards dawn the Tatars began to set off again, mounted their barebacked

horses and scudded further on, never observing that they had left two

living men among the dead bodies.

The two warriors were careful not to leave the church till late in the

evening, but went on fighting there with the beasts of the field, and,

in the daytime, they found yet other adversaries in the vultures who

hovered all day above their heads, and all but tore their eyes out with

their claws, because they stood between them and the dead bodies. They

gave thanks to God when at sundown they were able to quit the horrible

place and go on further.

Along the level plain they went as quickly as they could hasten, not

even daring to look behind them, though there they would have seen

nothing but the black clouds of smoke from the burning towns, which the

wind drove over their heads. Behind them the Tatar was coming.

Towards evening they reached a lofty hill, in which dwelt a gipsy. The

gipsy was doubly a foe, being both an alien and a heathen, he was,

therefore, just the sort of man to give good advice to fugitives.

In those days all sorts of folks were flying from the Tatars, flying

whithersoever they saw light before them, some on foot, some on

horseback, some on cars, men, women, and children.

"Alas! my dear creatures," wailed the gipsy, "you come to a bad place

when you come hither. You would do very much better to turn back in the

direction whence the Tatar bands are coming, for they, at least if you

surrender, will not cut you down, but will only make slaves of you. But,

alas! in front a far greater danger awaits you, for in yonder forest

dwell giants, terribly huge monsters with antlered heads and mouths so

wide that they can swallow a man down whole. They seize all those who

fly towards the forest and roast them on large spits. They don't hurt me

because I give them wine to drink when they come hither."

Before now the refugees had heard from the warriors flying from the

direction of Grosswardein of these Tatar giants who had scattered a

whole host by simply appearing before it. Nay, a herdsman, a worthy man

of Cumanian origin, had sworn that he had seen them. They strode over

the fields, he said, four ells at one stride, and one of them had sat

down quite easily on the roof of a house, with his legs dangling down.

At this rumour, the poor, terrified, common folks preferred to run back

into the jaws of the Tatars, rather than fall beneath the fangs of these

monsters; but the two Koppands said to one another very prudently--

"Look, now, there are far fewer of these monsters, whereas the Tatars

can be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The flesh of a giant is but

flesh, and a sword may pierce it. Goliath also was a giant, and a

shepherd's son slew him. Let us rather go against them."

And they set off towards the forest.

"Well, you will repent it," the gipsy cried after them.

As the warriors drew near to the forest, there emerged from among the

trees twelve terrible forms, thrice as big as ordinary men. They had

heads as large as barrels, their moustaches were like horses' tails,

they covered two ells at each stride, and swords two ells in length hung

heavily on their shoulders.

"Well, little brother," said Simon the warrior, grasping the hilt of his

sword at the sight, "either they are going to eat us or we will eat

them, choose your man and I'll choose mine."

And they drew their swords and rushed upon the giants.

The monstrous shapes at first raised a great shout at them, and

flourished their swords, but perceiving that they could by no means

terrify the two warriors, they turned tail, and with long strides

hastened back towards the forest.

They were no giants from the hand of Nature after all, but only jugglers

of the Tatar khan who could stride about on long stilts, and dressed up

to ape God's wonders, so as to scare back the fugitive population into

the claws of its murderers. The gipsy knew this very well, for he was in

league with them.

When Simon the warrior saw the giants take to flight, he encouraged his

brother still more against them. But they had no need to hunt for them

in the forest, for they could not move quickly enough on their stilts

among the trees and shrubs, their masques and wrappings also impeded

them, so that they could not make a proper use of their heavy swords, so

the two brothers cut down every one of them without mercy, and stuck

their painted monster heads on the tops of stakes on the borders of the

forest, that the flying people might take courage at the sight when they

beheld them from afar. And the name of the treacherous gipsy Simon the

warrior wrote down on the hilt of his sword.

And then they again set out westward, till at length they reached the

waters of the Theiss, where they found a ferry, in front of which many

people were then waiting, all of whom had fled from before the Tatars.

The toll was in those days collected by certain of the Patarenes or

Albigenses, for in the days of King Andrew and the Palatine Dienes, all

the tolls had fallen into the hands of such-like oppressed people. It

might be supposed that in times of such great danger, when every one was

flying from fire amidst bloodshed, that the ferrymen would let the

fugitives over the rivers for nothing. And of a truth Christian Magyar

men would have so done, but the impious Patarenes laid heavier

contributions than usual on the refugees, who fled from before the

Tatars, carrying all they possessed on their persons, and these last

possessions they had to give up to the godless ferrymen. The women had

to give up their earrings, the men their shoe-buckles by way of ransom,

to the hard-hearted wretches to ferry them over. But those who had

nothing and were flying as beggars received godless usage at their

hands, for they were compelled to repeat after them a Manichæan prayer,

which was nothing but a frightful blasphemy against the one true God and

His saints in the Tatar tongue. And very many repeated it not thinking

at all in their deadly fear of the salvation of their souls. Those who

feared to utter the abomination searched elsewhere for a ford across the

Theiss, or, if they could swim, set about swimming, and so many perished

there.

The two brethren had nought wherewith to pay the ferry-toll but the

blaspheming Tatar prayer. Simon the warrior said he would rather let

himself be cut in pieces by the Tatars than blaspheme the true God and

the Blessed Virgin, but Michael, having more _sang-froid_, assured him

that he would say it for them both, and made out that his brother was

dumb. He, therefore, repeated the horrible blasphemy twice, once for

himself and once for his elder brother, while Simon, with clenched

fists, repeated silently to himself an Our Father and a Hail Mary! Thus

they got ferried over to the opposite shore; and when Simon the warrior

reproached his brother for yielding to compulsion and repeating the

blasphemous verses, Michael reassured his elder brother by telling him

that after every verse he had said to himself: "Not true, not true." Yet

for all that it was a grievous sin.

And warrior Simon marked the name of the Manichæan on the hilt of his

sword.

But now the refugees plunged into the jaws of a fresh danger. The great

battle of the Sajo[22] had just been lost. The Tatar flood filled the

whole space between the Danube and the Theiss. When they emerged on the

border of a forest, the two brothers saw nothing all around them, right

up to the horizon, but the smoke of burning villages. They returned,

therefore, into the forest, and began to fare northwards, hearing on

every side of them the sound of the Tatar horns replying to each other;

seeking a refuge for the night in the trunks of hollow trees, and

finding no other sustenance than wild honey and beach-mast with which to

satisfy the cravings of hunger.

[Footnote 22: On the Muhi _puszta_, near the river

Sajo, the Tatars defeated King Bela and the Magyars in

1241.]

On the fourth day they reached a respectable house in the midst of the

forest, which was defended neither by trench nor bastion, and yet was

not burnt down.

The young warriors marvelled thereat; they did not know that in this

house dwelt a Moor, and the Moors were all on the side of the Tatars.

They brought them tidings, conducted them to the towns, and were their

spies and receivers. What the Tatars stole they bought of them cheaply,

and peddled it in Moravia, and even further still. This was the house of

one of these hucksters. A great red ox's head was painted on the door,

that the Tatars might recognize that the dweller therein was one of

their men.

The Moor received them with great amiability when they crossed his

threshold, assured them that they might stay with him, and immediately

set about making ready a meal for them, which was a great consolation to

the honest, starving wanderers. While they were complaining to their

honest host of the hardships they had undergone, a noble lady came

panting up to the house, from whose ragged robes and unstitched sandals

one could see that she had fled afar for refuge, and asked whether her

beloved husband and her little boy had come thither. There were five of

them hiding in the forest, she said; her husband, with their little boy,

a faithful retainer, a nurse, and a little baby. All at once they had

heard the barking of dogs, and her husband had said that the other three

should remain behind in a cave, while he himself, with the little boy,

went on in front to look about, and see whether there were any human

dwelling near at hand. They had waited for him a long time, till at last

the wife, terrified at the long absence of her husband, had come forth

herself to seek him. Were they perchance here?

"It is possible they may have come hither, my child," said the Moor,

with a shrug; "many seek refuge here nowadays. What were they like?"

The woman described her husband's appearance and his garments, and then

the little boy. On the little boy's finger, she said, was a black

horsehair ring, with a little white cross. None could take it off, even

if they killed him for it; he could be recognized by that.

The Moor replied that he had not cast eyes on them, and the poor woman,

wailing and ringing her hands, went further on to seek for her husband

and her little boy.

Meanwhile, a meal had been served up for the young warriors--seethed

flesh in a huge caldron. The Moor also brought them wine, and, hoping

they would enjoy their food, left them to themselves.

Sir Michael, who was very hungry, would have attacked the liberal repast

forthwith, but Sir Simon stopped him.

"Had we not better first offer up our thanks, Michael?" said he.

So they said a grace, as it becomes God-fearing men to do, and then only

did they turn to their meat.

And behold! God had mercy on them, and was gracious to them, for when

Sir Michael plunged his curved eating-knife into the kettle, what think

you he brought out of it on the point of his knife? A tiny bone

encircled by a black horsehair ring, with a tiny white cross in the

midst of the ring.

The youths leaped in terror to their feet, and, with no further thought

of either meat or drink, and without taking leave of host or hostess,

rushed from thence as fast as their legs could carry them, and only late

in the evening arrived in front of the cave of a poor hermit, to whom

they told the horrible thing that had befallen them.

"Give thanks to God, my sons," said the old ascetic, "that He has

delivered you from that evil place, for the dwellers therein are none

other than the impious Moors, the spies of the Tatars, who give to the

refugees who seek a shelter there, stupefying drugs in their drink, and,

when sleep has overcome them, chop off their heads. For the heads they

get a denarius a piece from the Tatars, and the flesh of the bodies they

give to the refugees who come afterwards, thus most monstrously causing

the Magyars to eat the bodies of their own brethren. Rejoice that you

have not tasted thereof. Clear fresh water and dried roots will now be a

banquet to you, and we will share them together. Remain here till

morning, and then go even higher and higher towards the north; you

cannot miss your way. On whichever side of the trees you find moss, in

that direction the north will be. If you go a seven days' journey

through valleys and hills, you will see before you the highest mountains

on the borders of Hungary; there will you hear a bell, and it shall

guide you. There you will find a shelter--there are the Stones of

Refuge, which those who are skilled in war have provided with means of

defence, so that they may receive fugitives from every quarter. There

also will be a good place for you. You will find there an altar, bread,

strong bastions, which the good God and your good swords will defend

against a thousand enemies. Stop nowhere till you reach that place, for

danger and desolation are over all the land."

The young warriors kissed the hand of the good old man for his good

counsel, and early in the morning, according to his directions, went all

alone through the dense forests. They went far, they went for a long

time, they left behind them the oak hills, they left the beech hills

behind them, and now they were among the dark, solemn pines, but further

and further still they had to go.

But one morning, when they had sat down to rest among the lofty

mountains, the voice of a bell, coming from afar, struck upon their

ears. It was the voice of a very large bell, such bells as are only to

be found in such cities as Fehérvár or Nagy Várad, in the cathedrals.

Sir Michael leaped with joy at the sound.

"Here must certainly be the Rocks of Refuge," he cried.

But his brother Simon only shook his head.

"We have still further to go, my brother. The holy man said it was at

least a seven days' journey from here."

"Ah! no doubt he measured the distance with his own feet, and they are

old."

"But the sound of this bell comes not from the north, but much more from

the west."

"No doubt we have lost the proper direction."

And Sir Michael persuaded his elder brother, Simon, not to go any

further, but turn aside and discover from whence came the sound of the

bell, for surely none but a Christian man would signal with a bell. No

doubt they did so to prevent folks from losing their way, so that they

might turn in thither and find a place of refuge from the enemy.

Simon at last agreed, and they proceeded in the direction from whence

the sound of the bell came, and when they had emerged from the forest a

little pebbly valley opened out before them, through which wound a

little brook, and over the brook a great footbridge was cast. But the

bridge led up to a great rocky castle, with a large pointed tower in

each of its four corners, and a fifth tower in the middle. There were

bells in all five of these towers, and they were pulling them as if they

were ringing in a procession.

"These be certainly the Rocks of Refuge!" cried Sir Michael, once more.

"The hermit said nothing of such towers and bastions as these," remarked

his brother Simon, hesitating.

"They may have been built since last he was here," replied his brother.

And so they went on towards the castle. But it struck them as strange

that there were neither peasants' huts, nor a village, nor cottagers'

dwellings at the base of this strange castle, as there was wont to be

elsewhere. How was that?

"No doubt they have gathered all the peasantry within the walls of the

castle." Thus did the credulous Sir Michael explain it all.

The watchman on the tower, when he saw the travellers drawing near,

immediately sounded his horn, whereupon they let down the drawbridge

which connected the footbridge with the castle gate. Strong retainers

came forth to meet the new arrivals, and when the travellers gravely

told them that they had come from afar, from the midst of the devastated

kingdom, and knew not whether this was a good place of refuge or not,

the men laughed aloud and said: "Yes, you have indeed come to a good

place, comrades, for this is the castle of Sir Fulko, a famous and

well-known warrior. The Tatar cannot come hither, though he fill up the

whole valley. Here, too, there is no lack, for here is enough to eat and

drink and to spare. Have you any treasures which you want put into a

safe place?"

"Of a truth we have nothing at all but our good swords."

"Well, so much the better. You can enter into the knight's service, and

can win a good wage by fighting valiantly beneath his banner."

"We want no money for our service; it suffices us if we can fight

against the pagans beneath a good leader."

The lackeys laughed at the valorous way in which the youths spoke, and

led them into the castle, and soon afterwards they brought them scented

water in silver ewers, and made them wash and bathe themselves. Then

they brought them splendid velvet and flowered damask garments

embroidered with gold and crusted with diamonds. They also anointed

their locks with fragrant unguents. Sir Fulko, they said, had commanded

all these things to be done; he always received his guests with the like

hospitality.

"But perchance we do not deserve this great honour," said Sir Simon,

blushing, who was always a shamefaced man when favours were forced upon

him.

"Oh, you'll have your full share of far more than this," said the

servants, jocosely. "Our master has prepared a banquet for us all, and

the young ladies, the daughters of Sir Fulko, Meryza and Siona, will be

at the banquet also. You will sit beside them."

"But what odd names they have!" cried Sir Simon. "Where were they

christened to get such names as these?"

"Don't trouble your heads about that. To-morrow you will be able to say

which of the twain is the most beautiful."

Sir Michael's heart was immediately interested in imagining which of the

two ladies was likely to be the fairest, but his elder brother, Simon,

was busy with very different thoughts.

"Is there no chapel here?" he asked. "We should like to go there first

to give thanks to God for delivering us from the midst of so many

dangers. It is now many weeks since we had an altar before us, only in

the woods, at break of day, with the fowls of the air, have we been able

to pray to God."

The lackeys again laughed at them.

"Leave all that now, good friends, you can find your way about

to-morrow; a priest you can see at any time. Now come to the feast; they

must have sat down to table long ago."

Sir Simon shook his head a good deal at this. He did not much like a

place where they spoke of the altar so lightly; but he did not want to

begin a brawl, so he allowed himself to accept the invitation, but he

reminded his younger brother that after their long fast it would be as

well to partake of the feast sparingly, and not drink too much wine,

lest harm might come of so sudden a repast.

At the blast of a trumpet the inner folding doors of the castle were

thrown open, and the youths were conducted into the banqueting-room.

The two honest young warriors felt the light of their eyes darkened by

the great splendour which now burst like enchantment upon them from all

sides. The tables were piled with silver plate and golden beakers;

chairs and benches were gorgeously carved and painted; the windows were

full of coloured glass; the chairs, at the heads of the tables, were

upholstered in velvet and surmounted by canopies as if they had been

placed there for princes. At the back of every chair stood a heyduke in

parade garments of cloth of gold, scarlet mantles, and with silver wine

pitchers in their hands. Then the folding doors at the opposite end of

the banqueting-room were thrown open, and through them came the guests

of the lord of the castle, each richly attired gentleman conducting a

beautiful damsel by the right hand. The ladies swept the floor with

their heavy silk dresses, and diamonds and carbuncles sparkled on their

foreheads and in their bosoms. They took their places in couples around

the long, loaded tables, a man and a woman side by side. Finally, three

fanfaronades announced the arrival of the master of the castle, Sir

Fulko, an obese figure almost collapsing beneath the weight of the

precious stones and gems he wore. He led a lady by each hand, his

daughters Meryza and Siona.

The former, whom he led by the right hand, was a marvellously beautiful

damsel; a tall, stately, dignified figure, who lifted her head as

haughtily as one who knew that every one present was indeed her very

humble servant.

The second damsel, whom Fulko led by the left hand, was small and

hump-backed: she never raised her eyes nor looked around her, like one

who knew right well that every one despised her. It was easy enough to

say which of the twain was the more beautiful.

At this spectacle Sir Michael fancied he was dreaming, so blinded were

his eyes by the sheen of the precious stones, that he knew not whether

he was in earth or heaven. But Sir Simon, when he beheld all the

splendour before him, bethought him that at this very time King Bela[23]

was drinking out of his helmet water stained with bloods from the banks

of flowing streams.

[Footnote 23: After losing the Battle of the Sajo,

where 65,000 Magyars vainly endeavoured to arrest the

march of 500,000 Mongols, Bela fled for a time into

Austria.]

"Knights and dames to your places!" cried Sir Fulko. "Here beside me

will sit Sir Simon and Sir Michael; the latest guest always has the

first place at _my_ table. Sit down beside my daughters. This is my

daughter Meryza, and that my daughter Siona."

Michael so contrived that the fair Meryza sat next to him, but Sir Simon

took his place next to the meek-eyed Siona, but first of all he said

grace to himself in a low voice, at which the other guests laughed

greatly; the good knight was making quite a scandal, they said.

Nevertheless, a voice beside him whispered softly: "Amen! Amen!" He

looked in that direction and saw the humpbacked Siona, and at that

moment the deformed damsel seemed lovelier to him than the stately

Meryza.

The guests drank right gallantly; they required no very urgent

invitation thereto, and when they had all got pretty full skins, they

requested the new-comers to tell them the story of all that had

befallen them on their way thither.

Sir Michael, not possessing the gift of eloquence himself, beckoned to

his elder brother to speak. Simon, therefore, got on his legs, and

imagining he had to do with honest patriots whose hearts could be

touched, he began to tell them of the mournful events he had seen. As

his narrative proceeded he was carried away more and more by his

emotions; the terrible scenes rising again before his eyes gave

inspiration to his lips, so that at last he spoke with such feeling that

the tears coursed down his own cheeks.

But by the time he had dried his tears and looked round him again, he

perceived that the army of guests was neither sighing nor crying at his

melancholy oration; on the contrary, they were only listening by way of

diversion, like triflers listening to a singer of songs.

So scandalized was he at the sight that he broke off abruptly.

What annoyed him most of all were the eyes of the stately Meryza; they

regarded him so smilingly.

When he stopped speaking the stately damsel addressed him--

"Tell us some more of those pretty tales!" said she.

But a whimpering voice beside him--it was the pale Siona's--implored him

to cease for the love of God, for it made her heart bleed to hear such

horrible things.

And Sir Simon listened to the words of Siona; he sighed deeply and sat

down. He was sorry that he had reproached his host and the army of

guests with heartlessness; he thought that it was only good manners on

their part, and that he had forgotten himself because he was so tired.

But now arose Sir Saksin, a gigantic figure of a man, close beside

Simon, and asked him why he did not drink like the rest of them and why

he had left off speaking? Why had he insulted the company by this sudden

silence? Let him come out on the green, then, if he would!

Sir Simon perceived that this would mean bloodshed, so he shoved away

his chair from beneath him and held himself ready for everything. This

was no unusual thing in the days when there had been much drinking among

many guests and the exhibition of strength was not considered a

disgrace, and therefore, before a banquet, all the guests were wont to

unload themselves of all their cutting and thrusting weapons, lest they

might injure one another and be sorry of it when they were sober again.

Perceiving this, Sir Michael would also have leaped from his seat, but

the wine he had taken had tied him to it, and besides, those about him

said that in a quarrel between two men, it did not become a third person

to interfere.

But Siona whispered to Simon.

"Beware of letting yourself be hugged, for Saksin has spiked armour

beneath his dolman, and if he clip you tight it will mangle you."

And this secret information was of great use to Simon, for when he was

wrestling with the big knight in the midst of the room, he never let

himself be clipt round the body, but seized him firmly by both arms, and

after thus giving his huge body a good shaking, tripped him up and

flung him to the ground so that his head hit the floor violently.

At this, Saksin leaped furiously to his feet, and clutching a chair,

rushed upon Sir Simon; but the latter broke the impact of the chair with

one hand, while with the other he gave Sir Saksin such a buffet that he

saw and heard nothing more, for the blood burst suddenly from his nose,

mouth, and ears. So they carried him off wrapped up in a rug.

At this the other guests laughed heartily, praised Sir Simon for his

strength and skill, and pressed his hand one after another. But he

noticed at the same time that they all tried to find out whether they

could hurt his hand by pressing it as hard as they could. "Let them do

as they like," he thought; "but I wonder what is going to happen next."

Finally, the master of the house tapped him on the shoulder. He told him

too that he was a fine fellow for overthrowing so doughty a warrior with

whom none hitherto had ventured to cope, and inasmuch as he had resolved

that whoever was able to vanquish Sir Saksin was to be allowed to choose

one of his daughters for his consort, let him make his choice

straightway.

Sir Simon fancied they were making sport with him by promising him such

a reward, which he had done nought to earn. But when he saw them summon

the chaplain, he perceived they were in real earnest. And, besides, he

was invited once more to make his choice.

But Sir Michael, his brother, was greatly amazed at all this. He was

also grievously annoyed that _he_ had not contended with Saksin, for he

was no whit less doughty than his brother Simon. Alas! Simon would of

course choose Meryza, for if he had any eyes at all he could not fail to

see at a glance which was the loveliest.

But Simon turned towards the pale Siona and said it was she who pleased

him best.

Sir Fulko was greatly surprised. _He_ did not like the choice at all. He

scratched his head. He bit his lips. But the only objection he could

make was that Meryza was the eldest.

"Well, if you don't want her married later than her younger sister, give

her to wife to my younger brother. He is just as good a warrior as I am,

and if he had fought with Saksin he would have flung him to the ground

not twice but thrice."

Michael himself swore that he would indeed have done all that for

Meryza, and, if necessary, he would try conclusions with every gentleman

present one after the other; whereat they all laughed heartily.

Sir Fulko thereupon took him at his word, and said that, as he was so

enamoured of his daughter, he might take her for his consort by all

means.

Sir Michael was beside himself for joy. He could scarce stand upon his

legs for joy, and challenged the whole world to wrestle with him.

But the soul of Sir Simon was steadied and cooled by the reflection: How

was it that such a rich lord disposed so readily of his lady-daughters,

and gave them to wife to the first comers without wooing or sueing?

Nevertheless, it was a fact, whether he believed himself to be awake or

imagined himself to be asleep, it had happened all the same. Sir Fulko

joined their hands together; Meryza drew from her finger a diamond ring,

which she placed on the finger of Sir Michael; while Siona gave a thin

circlet to Sir Simon as a token of their espousals, the knights giving

them in exchange from their fingers old ancestral rings of great price;

whereupon the whole army of guests, suddenly converted into a bridal

party, proceeded forthwith to the castle chapel, where a priestly shape

united the two couples in holy matrimony according to the ritual of the

Catholic Faith, decently and in order to the accompaniment of hymns and

organ.

Sir Michael and the fair Meryza withdrew to their appointed

bridal-chamber, but Sir Simon said to his bride: "I will remain here a

little while before the altar to thank God for His wondrous benefits,

inasmuch as He has delivered me out of jeopardy and guided my footsteps

into the path of liberty. It was but yesterday the wolves were lying in

wait for me, and now to-day I am blessed with a good consort like you.

Go back to your room, and I will shortly come after you."

For about an hour Sir Simon remained there beside the altar, which was

embellished with the statues of the Saints; he felt inclined to bless

these holy images one after the other, but then he thought that perhaps

Siona might be growing impatient at his long delay.

"Forgive me, Siona, for remaining so long in the chapel," said he, on

his return; "but I had so many thanks to render to God this day."

"Indeed, you have many reasons to thank God," said Siona; "for

marvellously hath He delivered you from death this day. You may thank

God that you sat beside me instead of by Meryza, for Saksin would

assuredly have fastened a quarrel upon you in any case; and had you not

taken heed and avoided his grip, you would have been a dead man now. You

may also thank God that you drank not out of your own beaker, but out of

mine, in which there was water; for the rim of your beaker was smeared

with stupefying poison, and if your lips had touched it, you would have

been drugged and died before dawn. But you may thank God a hundred times

over that you did not stretch out your hand after Meryza when they

allowed you to choose between us, as hundreds have done before you, who

are all dead; for you most certainly would have followed them."

"But what sort of a house can this be, then?" inquired the terrified

Simon.

"A house of robbers and murderers. Sir Fulko is a bandit-chief; he is

not my father, but my step-father, who tormented my mother to death.

Meryza, on the contrary, _is_ his daughter, of whom they relate horrors.

These guests, who walk about in cloth of gold, the companions of Fulko

and his daughter, are every one of them murderers a hundred times over,

and accursed. Formerly, until last year, they scoured the counties far

and wide, in bands, on their predatory adventures. Sometimes Meryza

herself led them, and she is more merciless even than her father in

these nocturnal massacres. Since, however, Heaven in its wrath has

inflicted this great blow on our country, and let loose the Tatars upon

it, Fulko's bands have not gone forth plundering. They fear to fall in

with stronger robbers than themselves, so they hung large bells in

their towers, and the far-sounding voices of the bells decoy from afar

those who are seeking a refuge from the Tartars. When rich nobles or

chapmen come hither they are hospitably welcomed; their treasures are

taken charge of, and they themselves are disposed of the very first

night. If there are handsome youths amongst them they are made sport of,

as you were. Fulko offers them the choice of his daughters. The youth,

intoxicated by the drugged wine, demand the hand of Meryza, and they

conduct him to the altar. A robber, clothed in the vestments of some

murdered priest, unites them, and he finds himself her husband. When

Meryza gives the signal they ring the bell outside; an alarm of 'fire'

is raised; the young husband is aroused from his slumbers, and the

moment he rushes from the bedroom all trace of him is lost, and the next

day there is a fresh comer, another death, another sacrifice."

"Horrible!" cried Sir Simon. "And is Michael there at this moment? Where

is he, I say?"

"Speak softly! He is not there now. In the adjoining room gapes an abyss

twenty fathoms wide. Every day we walk over it. The floor on which we

walk turns downwards on a hinge, which is in the centre of it, and on

the withdrawal of a bolt is ready to yawn open from end to end. At this

moment the bolt is withdrawn. If any one were to tread upon the floor it

would give way beneath him, and precipitate him below into a deep well,

which leads into a long corridor, extending right away to the base of

the mountain, and only admitting the light of day through a narrow

opening. If by some miracle any one falls to the bottom of the dry well

without dashing out his brains, he is torn to pieces in the depths by

two bloodhounds of Fulko, Orcus and Erebus he calls them. On the

following day, Fulko and his men descend into the cave-like corridor,

scare away the dogs, and divide among them the gems and ornaments of the

dead men."

"And my brother? What has happened to my brother?"

Siona dried the tears from her eyes.

"Listen, and I'll tell you the designs of your enemies. A hand will

begin tapping softly on the window of the bedroom, and then they will

whisper that your brother wants a word with you. They are tapping at

Michael's window now."

"And he?"

"Dead, without doubt. It was impossible to save him, for Meryza would

come with him to the very door, and kiss him there; and then there would

be a shout--and a great silence."

Words failed Sir Simon for sheer sorrow of heart.

"All you can do now is to save yourself. Here is a long rope; tie it

round your body. Here is a good sword; gird it on to your belt. Take

this burning torch in your left hand; don't wait till they call. Step

out upon the drawbridge. I will let you down softly by this cord, and

when you have got down I'll fling the cord after you. If you meet the

bloodhounds cry: 'Be off, Orcus and Erebus,' and dash the torch in their

eyes, and they will not hurt you. Kill them not, for then it will be

known that you have escaped, and Fulko and his men will go after you and

capture you. And now hasten. When you are in a place of safety, I wish

you a long life; and perhaps you will sometimes think that the poor

orphan whom you chose for your faithful consort really was faithful to

you."

Sir Simon embraced and kissed Siona with great emotion.

"I am really your husband, and will not leave you here; come along with

me!"

"That would mean the destruction of us both. They would know in an hour

that I had betrayed them, and before dawn we should be again in their

hands. The whole neighbourhood is in league with them. In three days'

time they will not be able to make out which of the bones are yours.

Hasten! Tarry not!"

Sir Simon thereupon vowed to God that if he escaped from thence, and the

realm ever righted itself again, he would return thither to release his

bride and take vengeance on the murderers of his brother. He did

everything that Siona wished. His sword in one hand, his torch in the

other, the card of deliverance round his body, he cautiously stepped

upon the bridge of sighs, and when it gave way beneath him, he softly

descended into the terrible abyss, from whose depths a dull howling

greeted him.

"God be with you!" cried the voice of Siona above his head, when he

already stood at the bottom of the well. He lifted the torch and lit up

everything around him. There lay his brother Michael, his beautiful head

crushed to death. The two bloodhounds, which were licking up his blood,

fell back before the torch into the darkness; their blood-red eyes

sparkled in the distance.

Sir Simon kissed the face of his dead brother, and suffered him not to

lie there for the wild beasts, but threw him over his shoulder and

carried him through the long corridor till he came to the forest. The

two dogs followed him all the way, but dare not attack him because of

the torch.

In the forest beyond he dug a grave for the dead body, piled a great

heap of stones upon it, cut crosses in the bark of four trees which

towered above it so that he might recognize the spot, and earnestly

prayed God to allow him to rest there in peace.

The north star now led him onwards towards the Carpathians.

Two nights he travelled continuously; in the daytime he kept closely

under cover. On the third day at dawn he beheld in the distance the

simple cross on the hilltop, of which the hermit had told him.

It was indeed the Stone of Refuge.

The worthy and valiant Templars, the Red Brothers, as the common folks

called them, had built there a place of refuge for the fugitives of the

whole kingdom, and whenever a vagrant Tatar band came after them they

were bravely repulsed, and could not take them by force.

And in the third year the hand of the Lord swept away from the bereaved

Magyar land the hordes of Gog and Magog, and every one returned to his

devastated fatherland.

The King came back and re-created a nation and a kingdom, and laid an

iron hand on the traitors and malefactors who had competed with the

enemy in the devastation of their country.

Ambulatory tribunals were formed which, under the presidency of the

Palatine, summoned the accused to appear at the bar on the borders of

every county. Those charged with such grievous crimes had to submit to

the judgments of God by means of the fire or water ordeal, or if they

were warriors they had to contend with the royal warriors, whose faces

were defended by helmets, and their bodies by coats of mail, while the

accused had no other weapons than sword and targe.

Many an impious offender was caught in this way, to wit, renegades,

traitors, saracens, cannibals, highwaymen, and spies. And at last it

came to the turn of Sir Fulko. The royal herald fastened the accusing

iron-glove on his gates also, and so great was the confidence of the

robber chief that, though he might have fled, he did not fly, but

appeared with all his retainers, with his captain Saksin, and his

daughter Meryza, before the tribunal, only Siona remained behind in the

earth.

Meryza put heart into Captain Saksin, who was a frightfully strong man

and experienced in duelling, and bade him have no fear, but embrace the

royal champion firmly, and to that end she had made for him a shirt of

mail which was a masterpiece of sorcery, for no weapon could pierce it,

and gave him a sword besides, which could pierce iron as if it were

velvet.

Thus caparisoned, Sir Saksin planted himself in the lists where the

royal champion stood; over against him and in the midst of the lists sat

the Palatine beneath a canopy, with the Pristaldus standing below him,

and the Pristaldus recited from a long list, in a loud voice, the

charges brought against the accused, to wit, that they had faithlessly

murdered those who had sought refuge with them, and had profaned the

Holy Sacrament.

The accused replied that the charges against them were lies, in the

belief that those who could testify against them were all dead.

"I declare the accusation to be pure calumny, and I demand a duel with

the royal champion," cried Sir Saksin, defiantly.

"Then recognize whom you fight with," said the champion, pulling off his

barred helmet; "I am Simon Koppand, whom Orcus and Erebus did not

devour."

On hearing that name and seeing that face, the enchanted sword fell from

the hand of the big powerful man; he had no more stomach for fighting.

He stretched out his hand for the fetters, and promised to confess

everything.

Sir Fulko, when he heard the names of Orcus and Erebus, swiftly flung

himself on his horse and galloped off; they pursued, but could not

overtake him. None to this day knows what became of him.

Only Meryza remained defiant. When her father fled, and Saksin confessed

everything, even she denied her crimes, and refused to tell anything.

Then she was subjected to the water ordeal, and died beneath it.

Saksin they quartered; the other robbers were beheaded.

After this the King bestowed upon Simon Koppand the castle of Sir Fulko,

and Simon Koppand presented the enormous treasure he found there to the

Church, to the glory of God.

But Siona he really took to wife, and was married to her a second time,

canonically, and she lived with him long and happily as his faithful

consort. And the name of Koppand continued for centuries.

And may the Lord God bless the Magyars hereafter as He hath done

heretofore.

THE END

_Jarrold and Sons, Ltd., The Empire Press, Norwich._

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=THE POETS LAUREATE.= From the earliest times. By J. C. Wright, Author of

"Outline of English Literature." 2/6.

=THE DAUGHTER OF THE DAWN.= Second Edition. A remarkable work of Maori

Life and Legend. By Reginald Hodder. With twelve illustrations by Harold

Piffard. 6/-.

"A tale of Maori Land, palpitating with excitement."--_Bookman._

"Full of an atmosphere of enchantment, which should give it a definite

and foremost place among the romances of the day."--_Daily Graphic_

=THE TONE KING.= Second Edition. A Romance of the Life of Mozart. By

Heribert Rau. Translated by I. E. St. Quintin Rae. With a specially

engraved Portrait of Mozart. 6/-.

"A lively story. Mozart was the wonder of the world, and the narrative

of his achievements, as boy and man, deftly built up to completeness by

Mr. Rau, is delightful reading throughout."--_Daily Telegraph._

=TALES FROM TOLSTOI.= Fourth Edition. Translated from the Russian by R.

Nisbet Bain. With Biography and specially engraved Portrait of Count

Tolstoi. 6/-.

"The stories are excellently well selected and show Tolstoi's wonderful

power of treating an astonishing variety of subjects with equal ease and

success."--_Westminster Gazette._

"The book is well worth reading, it is absorbing."--_Daily Express._

=MORE TALES FROM TOLSTOI.= Translated from the Russian by R. Nisbet Bain.

With the latest photogravure Portrait of Count Leo Tolstoi, and

Biography brought up to date. 6/-.

"No admirer of Tolstoi is likely to miss reading this book, and it would

form a good introduction to his works."--_Daily Mail._

=TALES FROM GORKY.= Translated from the Russian by R. Nisbet Bain. With

photogravure Portrait and Biography of Maxim Gorky. 6/-.

"The man has all the notes of genuine and unmistakable literary genius.

He has vision; he has the mastery of the phrase; half-a-dozen deft

touches and there is your picture; in a paragraph he has infected you

with the emotion he himself experienced at the moment he

presents."--_Daily Chronicle._

MAURUS JOKAI'S FAMOUS NOVELS.

AUTHORISED EDITIONS.

_Crown 8vo Art Linen, with Photogravure Portrait of DR. JÓKAI. 6s.

each._

=THE GREEN BOOK; or, Freedom under the Snow.= Eighth Edition.

Mr. Courtney, in the _Daily Telegraph_, says:--"It is truly an

astounding book. In force, fire, and prodigal variety he reminds one of

the elder Dumas."

=THE DAY OF WRATH.= Fourth Edition.

"There is no novel in which Jókai's all-round forcefulness and daring

wealth of colour are more terrific."--_Pall Mall Gazette._

=BLACK DIAMONDS.= Fifth Edition.

"Few living novelists rival Jókai in popularity. 'Black Diamonds' is one

of Jókai's most popular romances."--_Athenæum._

=EYES LIKE THE SEA.= Fourth Edition.

"A brilliant story. . . . The wealth of incident and quaint situations

display the surprising fancy of the author."--_Pilot._

=THE LION OF JANINA.= Fifth Edition.

"It is a fascinating story."--_Daily Chronicle._

=DR. DUMANY'S WIFE.= Fourth Edition.

"A good interesting novel. The characters live and move all through the

book."--_St. James' Gazette._

=PRETTY MICHAL.= Fifth Edition.

"We admire the work of Maurus Jókai. It is vivid and there is a

superabundance of incident."--_Times._

='MIDST THE WILD CARPATHIANS.= Fourth Edition.

"A succession of gorgeous tableaux. His canvas is crowded with striking

figures of irresistible charm."--_Spectator._

=THE SLAVES OF THE PADISHAH; or, The Turks in Hungary.= Sequel to "'Midst

the Wild Carpathians."

"One of the great books of the brilliant Hungarian Novelist."--_Daily

News._

=A HUNGARIAN NABOB.= Fifth Edition.

"A series of strong, vivid pictures of Hungarian life, executed by the

hand of a great master."--_Daily Chronicle._

=THE NAMELESS CASTLE.= Fifth Edition.

"An enthralling romance of adventure and intrigue."--_The Bookman._

=THE POOR PLUTOCRATS.= Fifth Edition.

"Full of exciting incidents and masterly studies of character."--_Court

Circular._

=HALIL THE PEDLAR (The White Rose).=

"The book is a brilliant picture of an almost increditable world."--_St.

James' Gazette._

=DEBTS OF HONOR.= Fourth Edition.

"A series of pictures, stirring, sorrowful, and gay, but always

beautiful."--_St. James' Gazette._

JARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, LONDON, E.C.

_And of all Booksellers._

Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the

original text have been corrected. Please note that the original text

was inconsistent in the spelling and hyphenation of many words, in

particular, in the use of accents. Except as noted below, these

variations have been retained.

The title page was moved to the front of the book, ahead of the

advertising material which preceded it in the original edition.

In the Biography of Jókai, "János Kováes" was changed to "János Kovács",

"A debreceni Sunatikus" was changed to "A debreceni lunatikus", and

"Déak's original programme" was changed to "Deák's original programme".

In The Justice of Soliman, "who had stolen the body of Eminah" was

changed to "who had stolen the body of Eminha".

In Love and the Little Dog, "without the break on" was changed to

"without the brake on".

In The Red Starosta, "the descendant of Jitschak Ben Menachim" was

changed to "the descendant of Jitzchak Ben Menachim".

In The City of the Beast, "stones and other missles" was changed to

"stones and other missiles", "mirky, dark-green tinge" was changed to

"murky, dark-green tinge", and "wot not off" was changed to "wot not

of".

In The Hostile Skulls, "if had anything on his mind" was changed to "if

he had anything on his mind", and "a similiar contrivance" was changed

to "a similar contrivance".

In The Bad Old Times, a quotation mark was added after "you shall rise

up and watch over me.", and "in which dwell a gipsy" was changed to "in

which dwelt a gipsy".

In the advertisement for New and Forthcoming Books, "Tales from Jòkai"

was changed to "Tales from Jókai", "cleft touches" was changed to "deft

touches", a quotation mark was added after "masterly studies of

character.", and one page of books was moved from after the list of

"Maurus Jokai's Famous Novels" to before.