Chapter XXXI

'Tis a true proverb which says that the devil sends an old woman when he cannot come himself; but of course it only applies to wicked old women, for there are very many gentlewomen well advanced in years who lead a God-fearing life and do good to their fellow-creatures.

Mr. Zurdoki left Kassa in rage and fury, and there were very many reasons why he should so leave it. In the first place the object of his scheming had been frustrated by his enforced departure from the city. He was to have spurred on to action there the party which leaned to Vienna, and thus facilitated George Rakoczy's plan of handing over to Ferdinand of Austria the trans-Theissian counties. At Kassa, Mr. Zwirina was his willing ally, but now all communication between them was cut off. He was also well aware that the citizens of Kassa are very stiff-necked people. Whenever they say "no," the Sultan, the Kaiser, and the Prince of Transylvania may say "yes," in vain. For when the potentates lay their heads together, and lay out the land in a way the people of Kassa don't like, the sheriff of Kassa simply wets his fingers and rubs out the proposed line of demarcation. Nor do they much mind being besieged for a couple of years or so; they have often enough experienced that. And when the Imperial general sends his shots into the city, they shoot them back again into his camp, and at last undermine the very ground beneath his feet. You had to be very clever indeed to get the better of the citizens of Kassa.

The threads of Zurdoki's crafty policy had been woven together in the letter deciphered by Valentine Kalondai, and Zurdoki was one of those who were perpetually urging the ambitious George Rakoczy to conquer Poland. The governorship of Cracow was the prize reserved for himself, and the prospect of the loss of that lucrative post piqued him exceedingly.

The second cause of his rage was his unsatisfied personal grudge against those who had forestalled him, viz., Count Hommonai and Valentine Kalondai.

In the third place he was in love with the wives of the count and the castellan, and the old miscreant had got the idea into his shaven head of corrupting them both, and to this idea he stuck through thick and thin.

On arriving at Saros, he gave up all the time that was not devoted to political intrigues to elaborating this evil design.

That Dame Kalondai had been married to her husband at Bártfa he had already learnt from old Dame Zwirina, who had told him so immediately after that memorable dance. He also knew from the same person that Michal's face, during her earlier residence at Kassa, had been disfigured by great brown patches, which had subsequently vanished in a most marvelous manner. She had said then that they were freckles, which always go away in winter; yet since then another summer had come and gone, and yet not a single freckle had reappeared.

From this Zurdoki's crafty intellect concluded that if the roses and lilies on Dame Kalondai's face were not of artificial growth, the disfiguring freckles must have been painted on designedly, and there must be some reason for it.

He took the trouble to go all the way to Bártfa, searched on the spot the records which testify to the marriage of Valentine Kalondai, and learnt therefrom with whom pretty--nay, ugly Michal, had been in service.

There they recollected the freckle-faced girl very well, and they also told him what sort of a person it was who had brought the damsel thither.

But to find this woman now was not very easy.

Red Barbara had certainly gone to Poland, where she had no reason to fear that she would fall into the hands of Henry Catsrider, who, if he came across her, would guess at once that she had set his house on fire, and that the two charred skulls which had been found under the débris were the remains, not of Barbara and Michal, but of the two lads. And thus he could ferret out many other things, especially if he took the trouble to investigate how the splendid garments and jewels which he himself had bought to rejoice pretty Michal's heart had found their way to the Cracow rag market.

Nevertheless Mr. Zurdoki persistently followed up his clew.

The witch, he argued, must have had associates in the country. Witches form a sort of guild, and are closely united to one another. So he searched and searched till at last he found the wife of the Kopanitschar of Zeb. There he gave a great banquet, danced all night with the Kopanitschar's wife, and after exhausting all his flatteries upon her, well plying her with wine and loading her with gifts, he learnt from her that she had indeed been acquainted with a woman who had sprung up from the bowels of the earth one night with a freckle-faced girl, and had then flown away through the air with her. The Kopanitschar's wife also knew where Red Barbara was now to be found.

In those days the more the witches were persecuted, the more they multiplied. Many lonely old women, and even younger ones who were separated from their husbands, not to mention a few young widows, got it into their heads that they were witches. They took great pride in the idea that men were afraid of them, and regarded them as supernatural beings, and for the sake of this senseless reputation did not even flinch from the horrors of a lingering death. There were quack anointers among them, too, who distributed to the others a salve made of stupefying, poisonous herbs, which, when well rubbed into their bodies, took away their senses, gave them delirious visions, and made their excited fancy believe that they were at witches' sabbaths in the society of the devil; or gave them morbidly voluptuous dreams such as haunt opium eaters, so that on awakening they firmly believed that their dreams were solid facts, and thus they openly confessed to deeds which they had only dreamt of doing. To such magic ointment-makers the rank and file of the witches looked up as their natural chiefs, went enormous distances to consult them, and in fact never lost sight of them.

Thus Annie knew very well where Red Barbara was to be found, although the latter had not considered it expedient to return to Hungary.

With Barbara's money it had been lightly come, lightly go! She had gone with her hoard of ducats and her costly dresses to Sandomir, where she gave herself out for a great lady, lived riotously with the professional thieves of the place, and after spending all her ready cash, sold her jewels likewise. Then the pretty dresses went too, till at last she found herself once more the same old tattered hag she had been before, and began again to haunt young women to tell them lies about their future, and give them bad advice in return for clandestine ducats.

This was just the sort of woman Zurdoki wanted.

He commissioned Annie to seek out Barbara, and gave the latter money for her journey, besides a letter certifying that she belonged to his household. This certificate she was to show to all and sundry who might stop her on the way. He was now quite certain of success.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, great changes were taking place at Kassa.

The day for the election of the sheriff had arrived, for according to ancient custom a new sheriff had to be elected every year.

Valentine Kalondai, with God's help, had already advanced very far. He had administered the office of castellan so excellently well that everyone was persuaded that the Keszmár professors had acted very unjustly in expelling him from college. But since discovering Zurdoki's intrigues, he had risen so high in the opinion of his fellow-citizens that, when the time for the election of the sheriff came round, no one would hear of anybody else for that office but him. Besides, said they, did not his father sacrifice himself for the benefit of the town when he was sheriff, and Valentine was much more fitted for the post than ever his father had been.

That the commandant, Count Hommonai, was a great patron of his, and warmly recommended him everywhere, naturally did him no harm either.

Nevertheless, to appease the opposite faction and prevent the citizens from quarreling among themselves, it was arranged that Mr. Zwirina, senior, who had hitherto been curator, should be made burgomaster, while Ignatius his son should become curator in his stead. In this way all parties were satisfied.

All three elections took place in the most orderly way. First, on Epiphany, the burgomaster--or, as he was then called, the superrector--was appointed, and then the curator, who had a weighty office to perform. He had to choose from among the most respectable citizens a hundred persons, who were to duly elect the sheriff. Fifty of these electors had to be Hungarians, and the remaining fifty Germans and Slovacks in equal numbers. As to confessions of faith, four-and-thirty of the hundred had to be Calvinists, three-and-thirty Lutherans, and just as many Papists.

It was no light manner to get together one hundred electors who should satisfy all these requirements.

At last, however, the hundred electors were all found, and then all the gates were closed, and no one was allowed to enter the city.

The hundred electors assembled in the townhall, and agreed among themselves as to the sheriff-elect.

Then they proceeded in perfect silence to the market-place, where a car drawn by six horses, and covered by a black cloth baldeluir, which made it look just like a hearse, awaited them. The retiring sheriff had to sit down in this car, and the hundred electors walked alongside it on foot, as if they were accompanying a corpse on its last journey to the churchyard. And it was indeed, to the churchyard that the procession went, and all the streets were thickly strewn with straw, so that the rattling of the car might not be heard.

In front of the churchyard the representatives of the guilds, with the symbols of their trade on long poles, were drawn up in two lines: the butcher held his hatchet, the cobbler his last, the tailor his shears, the mason his trowel, the metal-smelter his mortar, the carpenter his ax, the joiner his plane. But the guild of the organ-builders was represented by the image of its patron St. Cecilia, fastened in a banner.

And all this time the town was as silent as the grave. No music, no noise of any kind was allowed.

The electors and the guildsmen marched into the very center of the churchyard, which was likewise covered with straw, and all stood around the chapel in a half-circle. Then the retiring sheriff arose in the car, which was laden with eighteen long, smoothly planed boards of the hardest wood, and said to the burgesses:

"Gentlemen and judges, let thy servant depart!" whereupon the curator answered in the name of the rest:

"Thou hast served us faithfully, depart in peace!"

Then the sheriff came down from the car.

"To whom am I to give these eighteen boards?" he asked.

"To the noble, valiant, worshipful burgher, Valentine Kalondai," replied the curator, in the name of the electors.

Then the car was turned round, and went back into the town as silently as it came, and this time, not only the hundred electors, but the representatives of the guilds also escorted it.

The car stood still before Kalondai's house, the doors and windows of which were shut, as indeed were the windows and doors of all the houses, and closed they must remain till the pealings of the church-bells gave them the signal to reopen.

At the knocking of the curator, Valentine Kalondai appeared on the balcony.

"What do the citizens require of me?"

"Admittance with our car and our tools," answered the curator.

"And what am I to do with your car and your tools?"

"Valentine Kalondai, the citizens of the town of Kassa have this day, of their own free will, chosen you their sheriff. These tools which we have brought with us are the symbols of our prosperity, which we now intrust to your safe keeping. For a whole year to come the care of our peace and our prosperity lies in your hands. But on this car, according to ancient law and custom, we have brought you eighteen boards: six for your coffin, in case you die in the service of our city, but twelve for the fagots round your stake in case you betray the town wherein you were born. Will you admit us within your gates?"

"Come in, and welcome, in God's name!" said Valentine, and thereupon he opened the gate of his courtyard, and the heavy car lumbered rattling in.

Dame Sarah had overheard the conversation in the next room, and, through the closed window, said to pretty Michal:

"I know not how it is, but I am so delighted that my teeth chatter, and an ague shakes me."

"'Tis just the same with me," whispered pretty Michal.

But Valentine went down into the courtyard to the electors, and took the eighteen boards, six of which were for a coffin for the faithful, and twelve for fagots for the faithless sheriff.

Then they escorted the sheriff-elect to the townhall. There the two eldest town-councilors led him by the hand to the council-chamber, and bade him take his place in the sheriff's chair, at the upper end of the table, which was covered with a green cloth. Then the four youngest town-councilors seized the four legs of the chair and raised it, Valentine and all, on to their shoulders, and carried him out on the balcony of the townhall, while the hundred electors in the council-chamber shouted aloud, "_Vivat!_"

At the third _vivat_ all the mortars in the market-place were fired off, and immediately afterward all the bells in the church towers rang out, the town band blew with the trumpets, the town drummer beat the big drum in the square, in front of the cathedral, and the civic watch fired three salvos out of their heavy muskets, while all the people filled the air with their loud rejoicings. The straw was swept away from all the streets, and fresh green grass, specially mowed for the occasion, laid down instead. Then the procession set out again from the townhall, the guilds going before with their banners and the militia with their weapons, with the sheriff in the midst under a canopy--and thus the guard of honor proceeded to the churches of all denominations, as a sign that the new head of the town would honor the creeds of all confessions according to law and custom. There they prayed in the Hungarian, German, and Slovack languages, and after making the circuit of the town, set the sheriff on horseback, and placed the civic sword in his hand to signify that, in case of war, he was ready, if necessary, to defend the city by force of arms; whereupon they accompanied him back to his house, while the trumpets blew and the bells pealed continuously. And by this time all the doors and windows were opened, and thronged with spectators.

Among the many trumpeters who strode along before the sheriff's horse was worthy Simplex, who looked up from time to time at his old friend, as if he thought that a part of all this pomp and splendor belonged to him. And Valentine Kalondai looked down from his high horse upon his old bosom friend, and beckoned kindly to him with his naked sword; nay, when they came to his own gate, he stuck his middle finger into his open mouth and pointed up at the house, which means in all the languages of the world, "Mind you also come up to the banquet!"

For the good old custom then prevailed that the elected sheriff, when the solemn function was over, should entertain the whole of the magistrates, not forgetting their lowliest servant, so that no one took it ill of him in the least for inviting the civic trumpeter to table also.

And now the women had all their work cut out for them, and indeed on all such festive occasions they have by far the hardest part to play. The men can very soon get through their hocus-pocus, and it does not very much matter whether they gabble off their set speeches like parrots, or stick fast in the middle of them like asses; but what with cooking and baking and roasting, the poor women have no rest or repose for a whole week beforehand, for the comfort and convenience of the guests depend entirely upon them, and they must see to it that no one has the slightest cause to grumble. For the last three nights they had scarcely closed an eye.

A good old sumptuary ordinance provided that the lesser burgesses should be first provided for in roomy tents erected in the courtyard, while the notables, among whom the commandant and his lovely wife took precedence, were regaled in the family mansion itself.

Besides these two groups of guests, there was yet another sort, consisting of the beggars of the town.

These ragged ones limped in a long row through the streets, and stopped in turn at the bottom of the flight of steps which led up to the door of the pantry. On the lowest of these steps stood pretty Michal, and gave them a huge loaf apiece, while Ali, the Turk, filled each one's jug with as much beer as it would hold.

After the male came the female beggars. The Calvinists saluted pretty Michal with "God give you blessing and peace!" the Papists with "Praised be Jesus Christ!" and pretty Michal returned each salutation most sweetly. Whenever she saw a beggar-woman with a child in her arms, she gave her two loaves instead of one, and although herself a Protestant, she nevertheless always answered the "Praised be Jesus Christ!" with a devout "For ever and ever, Amen." And the beggars said to one another as they went away, "Oh! what a beautiful, good, blessed creature! May God preserve her for a hundred years to come!"

All at once there came hobbling along among the beggars, a woman whose head was swathed in a red cloth, who held one hand to her mouth, and looked at the young woman with her large piercing black eyes, as if she would have devoured her.

When this strange shape reached pretty Michal, she whispered in her ear, with a mocking, singing drawl, not the usual salutation, but the words, "Praised be--the pretty lady!" And then, for a single instant, she showed her face, which was distorted by a devilish grin.

Pretty Michal collapsed utterly. Had not the faithful Ali caught her in his arms, she would have dashed her head against the stones.

The beggar with the red cloth had disappeared in the crowd. Most likely no one had observed her, but, at any rate, no one troubled himself about her.

On hearing that pretty Michal had fainted, all the women came running together, and carried her into the house. Then, with many winks and smiles, they whispered to each other over her body. When a young wife faints there is no reason to be alarmed. The indisposition goes away of its own accord. The more initiated playfully take the husband to task for it, and he generally blushes and looks stupid enough. When a young wife swoons away, she is not so very desperately ill after all. The women soothed and calmed pretty Michal, and told her not to exert herself and not to sit at table. They could drink to her health, or rather to her speedy recovery, without her assistance.

So the banquet went on right merrily without her, especially after Dame Sarah had received the reassuring intelligence that there was really nothing the matter, the young wife only required a little rest. They drank to the prosperity of the land, the town, and all the distinguished guests present, without exception. The new sheriff had to clink glasses and drink bumpers with so many people that his happiness was almost too much for him. Even the two Zwirinas made Latin verses in his honor, so that his triumph that day was complete. At last Count Hommonai himself raised his beaker, and looking at Valentine, cried: "God preserve the man whom I love most of all my fellow-men, and with whom I am ready to share all my riches and all my honor!"

Then Valentine raised his tankard and proposed this toast:

"God preserve the friend who has shared with me all the contrarieties of life, my good comrade Simplex!"

And the commandant drank with the sheriff to the health of the trumpeter, although one or two fastidious gentlemen turned up their noses in consequence. But the majority liked Valentine all the better for not forgetting his lowly comrade in the hour of his greatest elevation.

Very late at night the merry company dispersed, and Greek fire flamed on all the bastions in honor of the happy day.

Valentine hastened to his Michal. His brain was reeling. He was brimful of the splendor of that day's triumph. In such a condition, a man deems it impossible that his own spouse, the second half of his soul, can perhaps be just as full of grief and despair as he of joy.

Beaming with pride, he advanced toward the bed on which pretty Michal lay. But she, with a horrified face, fell upon his neck, drew his head down toward her and whispered in his ear what she could have screamed aloud for terror:

"Let us fly. Red Barbara is here!"

At these words, Valentine's face grew pale, and the pride of his heart was gone.