Читать книгу Told by the Death's Head: A Romantic Tale - Mór Jókai - Страница 8

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I was ensign in a regiment under command of General Melchior Hatzfeld of the imperial forces. (Thus Hugo began his confession the next day when he had been brought to the court-room from the death-cell.) My conduct at that time was exemplary; I acquired so much skill in handling fire-arms that, at the siege of Cracow, I was advanced to the position of chief gunner of a battery.

Cracow at that time was in the hands of George Rákóczy, prince of Transylvania, who had leagued with Sweden to subdue Poland; and he would most likely have succeeded had not the imperial army come to the assistance of the Poles.

I shall not dwell long on the siege of Cracow lest I awake in the minds of the honorable gentlemen of the court a suspicion that, by relating incidents not immediately connected with my transgressions, I am purposely prolonging my recital. I shall therefore speak only of those occurrences which it will be necessary to mention in order to explain why I committed the crimes of which I am guilty. While with the army before Cracow I made the acquaintance of the daughter of a Polish noble. The young lady, who took a great fancy to me—I wasn't a bad-looking youth in those days, your honors—was a charming creature of sixteen years, with the most beautiful black eyes. If I remember rightly her name was Marinka. She taught me how to speak her language—and something else, too: how to love—the fatal passion which has all my life been the cause of much of my trouble.

During the siege my general frequently sent me to reconnoiter among the Hungarian camps; and as I was a fearless youth, I would venture to the very gates of the manor-houses in the neighborhood of Cracow. At one of these houses I met my sweetheart; and after that, you may guess, honored sirs, that it was not for the general's "yellow boys" alone I risked my neck night after night. No, my little Marinka's sparkling eyes were as alluring as the gold pieces; and I knew when I set out on my nightly tour that my sweetheart would be waiting for me at the gates of her father's place. But our secret meetings were at last discovered. There was an old witch of a housekeeper who ferreted out her young mistress' secret, and informed the old noble. One moonlight night Marinka was teaching me in her own little cozy chamber how to say: "Kocham pana z calego zersa"—which is "Mistress, I love you with my whole heart,"—when we heard her father's heavy footsteps ascending the staircase. I tell you I was frightened and said to myself, "This is the end of you, my lad!" but Marinka whispered in my ear:

"Nebojsa! (don't be afraid), go into the corridor, walk boldly toward my father, and to whatever he may say to you, do you reply 'God is One.'"

Then she softly opened the door, pushed me into the corridor, closed and locked the door behind me. The old gentleman was coming up the stairs very slowly because of a lame leg which he had to drag after him step by step. He had a square red face which I could see only indistinctly above the burning lunt he carried in one hand, blowing it continually to prevent it from going out. In the other hand he held a musket. The blazing lunt must have blinded him, for he did not see me until the muzzle of the musket came in contact with my breast. Then he stopped and cried in a stern voice:

"Kto tam? Stoj!" (Who are you? Stand!)

"God is One," I made answer. What else could I have said? The old gentleman's aggressive mien changed at once. He became quite friendly; he extinguished the lunt by stamping on it with his foot, tapped my shoulder in a confidential manner and called me little brother. Then taking me by the arm he led me down the stairs to a room where a huge fire was blazing on the hearth. Here he bade me seat myself on a settee covered with a bear skin and placed before me an English flagon of spirits. After he had arranged everything for my comfort he fetched from a secret cupboard a small book—it was so small I could have hidden it in the leg of my boot—and began to read to me all manner of heretical phrases such as "There is no need for a Holy Trinity, because the little which is done on earth in the name of God can easily be done by One alone."

My hair stood on end as I listened to the sinful words and I found what a trap I had fallen into. My Marinka's father was a Socinian, a leader of the heretical sect, and he was trying to make a proselyte of me.

The doctrines of Blandrata had spread extensively throughout Poland, but, owing to the persecution of its adherents, they could meet and work only in secret. The old noble's manor was one of their retreats, where recent converts were received for instruction. When the old gentleman believed he had enlightened me sufficiently he produced a heavy volume, bade me lay my right hand on it and repeat after him the vows of the society.

You may believe I was in a dilemma!

If I refused to repeat the vows I should have to confess that I had come to the manor for Marinka's sake, then the old noble would fetch his musket and send me straightway to paradise. If, on the other hand, I repeated the vows, then I was sure to journey to hades. Which was I to choose?

Should I elect to travel by extra-post, direct, without stopping, into the kingdom of heaven, or should I journey leisurely by a circuitous route, with frequent halts, to hades?

I was a mere lad; I was sorry for my pretty curly head—I chose the latter alternative!

From that time I became a daily visitor in the retreat of the followers of Socinus. Being a neophyte I was permitted to take part in their meetings only during the singing; when the sermon began I was sent to the gates to guard against a surprise. This was a welcome duty; for, once outside the house, all thought of taking up my station at the gates would leave me and, instead, I would climb the tree which grew close to my Marinka's window, swing myself by a branch into her room, in which she was kept a prisoner by her father to prevent our meeting; and there, while the sages below-stairs expounded the dogma of the unity of God, we two ignorant young people demonstrated how two human hearts can become as one.

One day our little community received an unexpected addition to its membership. There arrived from Cracow a troop of Hungarian soldiers who announced themselves as followers of Socinus. They received a hospitable welcome from the old noble, whom they overwhelmed with joy by telling him the prince of Transylvania had become an adherent of Socinus; that his highness had averred that, were he the King of Poland, all persecution of the heretics should cease at once and that some of the churches should be given over to them for their worship.

When I repeated this piece of news to my general he became so excited he sprang from his seat—his head almost struck the roof of the tent—and shouted: "It is perfectly outrageous how those Hungarians will stoop to base methods in order to win allies! If they succeed in inveigling the Polish Socinians to their ranks then we may as well stop trying to get them out of Poland!"

Fortunately, however, there arose dissensions between the Hungarian and the Polish adherents of Socinus. I must mention here, in order to explain how I became cognizant of the facts I am about to relate, that Marinka's father had begun to suspect me. Instead of sending me to stand guard at the gates when the sermon began, I was permitted to hear it and take part in the disputations.

The Hungarian troopers maintained that it was the duty of all pious Socinians to commemorate, at every one of their meetings, the death of the Savior by drinking wine; and they were so extremely devout that an entire quarter-cask of their host's best Tokay was emptied at every celebration. After the meetings, when the old noble would lift and shake the empty wine-cask, I could read in his countenance signs that heterodoxy was gradually taking root in him. At first he contented himself with remonstrating against the frequency of the celebration; surely it ought to satisfy the most devout member of the sect to observe the ceremony on Sundays, and holy days. But the troopers met his arguments with scriptural authority for their practices.

Then the old gentleman, finding his remonstrances of no avail, made an assault upon the dogma itself. He delivered an impassioned address in which he sought to disprove the divinity of Jesus. To this blasphemous assertion the Magyars made reply:

"If what you say be true, then He was the son of an honest man, and a good man Himself. Therefore, it is meet and right for us to show Him all honor and respect." And another quarter-cask was brought from the cellar. The old noble became daily more fanatical in his assaults upon the tenets to which he had so devoutly adhered before the accession to his little congregation of the Hungarian troopers; and, at last declared that Jesus was a Jew; that He deserved to be put to death, because He had promulgated the unjust law of taxation. But not even this fearful blasphemy deterred the Hungarians from their frequent celebrations. They said:

"If the Nazarene is so unworthy, then it is our plain duty to shed His blood, the symbol of which is wine—"

"Tremendously clever fellows, those Magyars!" here interrupted the prince.

"They were impious devils!" exclaimed the mayor reprovingly. "Impious devils!"

"Habet rectum," responded his highness. Then to the prisoner: "Continue, my son."

Hugo resumed his confession:

When the last cask was brought from the cellar the old noble declared to his congregation that the entire story of the Divine birth was a myth invented by the priests—

"And you took part in those blasphemous meetings?" sternly interrupted the mayor.

No, indeed, your honor! That is a crime of which I am guiltless. I never said one word; and escaped from the meetings whenever I could manage to do so. I had determined to flee with Marinka from the sinful community. Our plan was: I was to steal from the meeting on a certain night, assist my pretty Marinka to descend from her room by means of the tree outside her window and then set fire to the sheep-stables. The conflagration would scatter the blasphemers; everybody would run to the stables to release the horses, and in the general confusion Marinka would hastily secure as many of the family jewels as could be packed into a portmanteau. Then she and I would mount two of the freed horses and gallop straightway to my camp, where I would introduce her as my wife—

"A pious idea, certainly," commented the prince.

"How can your highness say so!" in a tone of reproof, exclaimed the mayor. "It was incendiarism pure and simple: Incendiarii ambitiosi comburantur; and further: raptus decem juvencis puniatur, and rapina palu affigatur."

"Very well, then," assented his highness. "My son, for the incendiarism you shall be burned at the stake; for the rape of the maid you shall pay a fine of ten calves; for the theft of the jewels, the punishment is impalement. Continue."

Unfortunately, resumed the prisoner, our plans miscarried, through the intermeddling of the old housekeeper I spoke of. Her suspicions had been aroused by Marinka's preparations for flight; she informed the old noble, who set spies to watch me. I was caught in the act of firing the stables and was flogged with hazel rods until I confessed that I was a spy from the enemy's camp. The old noble wanted to bind me to the well-sweep; but one of the Hungarian troopers took compassion on me and offered to buy me for sixteen Polish groschen. His offer was accepted; I was sold to him and taken to Cracow. I should not have had such a hard time as a slave had I not been compelled to grind all the pepper used in the Hungarian army. I ground enormous quantities, for the Magyars like all their food strongly seasoned with the condiment. My eyes were red constantly; my nose was swollen to the size of a cucumber. The only other complaint I had to make was that my master compelled me to eat everything that was set before me. He would say, when he placed before me enough for three men:

"You shall not be able to say that you hungered while you were my slave."

When I had eaten until I could not swallow another morsel, my master would seize me by the shoulders, shake me as one shakes a full bag in order to get more into it, and he would repeat the operation until the contents of every dish had been emptied into me. I used to sicken at the approach of meal-times, and whenever I saw the huge spoon—twice the size of my mouth—with which the food was ladled into me. Your honors will hardly believe that there is no greater torture than to be stuffed with food—

"We have never tried that method," remarked the prince.

"Nor are we likely to test it very soon," supplemented the mayor, with a grim expression on his countenance.

I yearned to be released from my unpleasant situation, resumed the prisoner. For the first time I realized the enormity of the transgression I had committed in joining the Socinian Community. Now I had no one to intercede for me with the Supreme Ruler of the earth. Had I become a Mussulman I should have had Mohammed; had I adopted the Jewish faith I should have been able to call to my aid Abraham, or some one of the other fathers in Israel. But I had no one. However, my desire to be released from the tortures of food-stuffing and pepper-grinding was at last fulfilled; I was captured, together with the entire Hungarian army, by the Tartars—

"Hold! hold!" interrupted the chair. "You must not tell untruths. You forget that you were in Poland. The Tartars could not have fallen from the sky."

I was about to explain how they came to be at Cracow when your honor interrupted me. It was this way: His Majesty, the Sultan of Turkey, who had become angry because his vassal, George Rákóczy, prince of Transylvania, had presumed to aspire to the crown of Poland, had commanded the khan of Crim-Tartary to attack the Hungarians with 100,000 cavalry. The khan obeyed. He devastated Transylvania in his march, surrounded the Hungarian army in Poland and captured every man jack of them—

"The explanation is satisfactory," enunciated the prince. "It was easy enough for the Tartars to appear at Cracow."

Yes, your highness; but I wish they hadn't, continued the accused. No one regretted it more bitterly than did I. After the capture of the Transylvanian army by the Tartars the victors divided the spoils as follows: The commanding officers took possession of all the valuables; the under-officers took the prisoners' horses; the captives themselves were sold to the common soldiers, each of whom bought as many slaves as he had money to spare.

My former master was sold for five groschen; my broad shoulders brought a higher price—nine groschen. The same Tartar—an ugly, filthy little rascal for whom I would not have paid two groschen—bought my master and me.

The first thing our Tartar master did was to strip us of our good clothes and put on us his own rags. He couldn't talk to us, as we did not understand his language; but he managed in a very clever manner to convey his meaning to us. He examined the material of which our shirts were made—the Hungarian's was of fine, mine of coarse homespun linen, and concluded that one of us was a man of means—the other a poor devil.

Then he took from his purse a gold coin, held it in his open palm toward the Hungarian, while with the other hand he hung a rope of horse-hair around his captive's neck. Then he closed his fingers over the coin, opened them again, at the same time drawing the rope more tightly about the captive's neck.

This pantomime signified: "How many coins like this gold one will your friends pay to ransom you?"

The Hungarian closed and opened his fist ten times to indicate "one hundred."

The Tartar brought his teeth together, which was meant to say, "not enough."

Then the Hungarian indicated as before, "two hundred," whereupon the Tartar placed the end of the rope in the captive's hand—he was satisfied with the ransom. Then came my turn. How much ransom would be paid for me? I shook my head to indicate "nothing;" but in Tartary, to shake one's head means consent. The little fellow smiled, and wanted to know "how much?"

Not knowing how else to express my meaning, I spat in his palm, which he understood. He put the gold coin back into his purse, took out a silver one and held it toward me. I treated it as I had the gold coin. Then he produced a copper coin; but I indicated with such emphasis that not even so small a sum would be paid for me that he raised his whip and gave me a sound cut over the shoulders. The Tartars then set out on their return to Tartary. My former master and I were bound together and driven on foot in front of our owner.

How forcibly my sainted grandmother's words, "He that reviles his Savior will be turned into an ass," came home to me when I was given dried beans to eat—the sort we feed to asses at home. Dried beans every meal, and my Tartar master did not think it necessary to stuff into me what I could not eat. What were left at one meal were served up again the next. Still more forcibly were my grandam's words impressed on my mind when, the fifth day of our journey, I became a veritable beast of burden. My Hungarian yoke-fellow declared his feet were so sore he could go no farther. His was certainly a weighty body to drag over the rough roads, especially as he had never been accustomed to travel on foot per pedes apostolorum. The little Tartar became alarmed; he feared he might lose the ransom if he left his rich captive behind, so he alighted from his horse, examined the Hungarian's feet and ordered him to get into the saddle. Then my feet were examined, and I imagined I too was to be given a mount. But I was mistaken. Before I could guess what he intended the little Tartar was seated astride my shoulders, with his feet crossed over my breast, and his hands clutching my hair for reins.

Luckily for me it was a lean little snips, not much heavier than the soldier's knapsack I was accustomed to carrying. It would have been worse had the Hungarian been saddled on my shoulders. That gentleman was greatly amused by the turn affairs had taken, and from his seat on our master's horse made all manner of fun of me.

He ridiculed my prayers, said they were of no avail where the enemy was concerned; that a hearty curse would give me more relief. I tell you he was a master of malediction! There was an imprecation he used to repeat so often that I remember it to this hour. I will repeat it for you—it is in that fearful Magyar lingo: "Tarka kutya tarka magasra kutyorodott kaeskaringós farka!"[3]