The Slaves of the Padishah Part 10

At that moment the white figure of a girl appeared on the summit of the rampart of the tower, her black locks streaming in the wind, her face aglow with enthusiasm.

"Heaven help thee, Ladislaus!" cried the girl from the battlement of the tower; and the youth, hearing from on high what sounded like a voice from heaven, recognised it, looked up and saw his bride--a superhuman strength arose in his heart and in his arm, and when the Turkish standard-bearer made his charger rear, Rakoczy suddenly let the flag-pole go, and seizing the bridle of the snorting steed with both hands, with one Herculean thrust, flung back steed, rider, and banner through the palisade into the deep moat below.

"There is no hope save with G.o.d!" cried Ali in despair, for his terrified people at the sight of this prodigy had dragged him along with them against his will.

"Ladislaus! Ladislaus! My darling!" resounded from above. The youth was fighting with the strength of ten men; three horses had already been shot under him, and a third sword was flas.h.i.+ng in his hand. Already he was standing on the drawbridge; his sweetheart threw down a white handkerchief to him, and he was already waving it above his head in triumph, when a well-directed bullet pierced the young hero's heart, and he collapsed a corpse on the very threshold of his success, in the very gate of the captured fortress at the feet of his beloved.

At that same instant a heart-rending shriek resounded, and from the top of the tower a white shape fell down upon the bridge; the beautiful bride, from a height of thirty feet, had cast herself down on the dead body of her beloved, and died at the same instant as he, mingling their blood together; and if their arms did not, at least their souls could, embrace each other.

This spectacle so stupefied the besiegers, that Ali Pasha had just time enough swiftly to raise the drawbridge and save the fortress and a fragment of his host. Of those who remained outside, not a single soul survived. Kokenyesdi ma.s.sacred without mercy everything which distantly resembled a Turk, together with the camels and mules, sparing nothing but the horses, and when every house had been well plundered, he set the town on fire in twelve places, so that the flames in half an hour consumed everything, and the whole city blazed away like a gigantic bonfire, the rising wind whirling the smoke and flame over the ditch towards the fortress.

"Ali Pasha may put that in his pipe and smoke it," said Kokenyesdi, rejoicing at the magnificent conflagration.

But the bodies of Ladislaus Rakoczy and his sweetheart they bore away, and buried them side by side in the family vault at Rakas.

CHAPTER VI.

THE MONK OF THE HOLY SPRING.

About a day's journey from Klausenburg there used to be a famous monastery, whose ruined tower remains to this day.

Formerly the ample courtyard was surrounded by a stone wall, ma.s.sive and strong, within which crowds of pilgrims, coming from every direction, found a convenient resting-place. For at the foot of this monastery was a famous miraculous spring, which entirely disappeared throughout the winter and spring, but on certain days in the summer and autumn was wont to trickle through the crevices of the rocks, and, for a couple of weeks or so, to bubble forth abundantly, whereupon it gradually subsided again.

During this season whole hosts of suffering humanity, the lame, the paralytic, the aged, the mentally infirm, and the childless mothers, would come from the most distant regions; and the Lord of Nature gave a wondrous virtue to the waters, and the sufferers quitted the blessed spring crutchless and edified, both in body and mind. There could be seen, hung up on the walls of the church, votive crutches which the cripples had left behind them; and more than one great n.o.bleman, out of grat.i.tude to the holy spring, enriched the altar with gold and silver plate.

The larger part of the building was reserved for n.o.ble guests, the common people encamped in the courtyard beneath tents; and behind the building a splendid garden was laid out, which the worthy monks always magnificently maintained. Even to this day, in the gra.s.sy patches round about the spot, it is possible to discover the savage descendants of many rare and precious flowers.

At the period in which our history falls, the convent of the holy well was represented by a single reverend father, whom the common tongue simply called Friar Gregory, and there was scarce a soul in Transylvania who did not know him well. He was a big man, six feet in height, with a flowing black beard, swarthy, lean, with a bony frame, and with hands so big that he could cover a six-pound cannon ball with each palm. A simple habit covered his limbs, head-dress he had none, and his broad s.h.i.+ning forehead was without a wrinkle. His droning voice was so powerful that when he sang his psalms he made more noise than a whole congregation.

At the times when the holy spring was flowing, the cellar and pantry of the good friar stood wide open to rich and poor alike, for whatever he earned in one year he never put by for the next, and whatever the wealthy paid to him the needy had the benefit of; and whenever any clerical colleague happened to come his way, whether he were Orthodox, Armenian, Calvinist, or Unitarian, he could not make too much of him; all such guests, during their stay, regularly swam in milk and b.u.t.ter, and remembered it to the very day of their death.

Just at this very time the Right Reverend Ladislaus Magyari's little daughter, Rosy, was suffering from a complaint which gave the lie to her healthy name, and her father thought it just as well to take her to the holy spring, perchance the healing water would restore to her wan little face the colour of youth.

Brother Gregory was beside himself with joy; the best room was prepared for his right reverend colleague, and brother cook, brother cellarer, and brother gardener were ordered to see to it that meat, drink, and heaps of flowers were provided for the honoured guests. No two people in the wide world were so suited to each other as Father Gregory and Dean Magyari; their hearts were equally good, and each of them had a head upon his shoulders. They rose up early in the morning to argue with each other on dogmatic questions--to wit, which faith was the best, truest, happiest, most blessed, and surest, and kept it up till late in the evening, by no means neglecting the frequent emptying of foaming beakers during the contest, pounding each other with citations, entangling each other with syllogisms, flooring each other with authorities, and overwhelming each other with anecdotes; and it always ended in their shaking hands and agreeing together that every faith was good if only a man were true to himself.

While her father was thus manfully battling, pretty pale Rosy would be amusing herself in the garden or by the spring with little girls of her own age, and the fresh air, the scent of the flowers, and the beneficent water of the spring gradually restored to her face its vanished bloom; and Magyari joyfully thought how delighted her mother would be if she were able to embrace her convalescent child, and, in sheer delight at the idea, spun out his disputatious evenings whilst Rosy in an adjacent cell was sleeping the sleep of the just.

The two worthy gentlemen were sitting over their cups one beautiful evening, when a loud knocking was heard at the outer gate. The rule was that at sundown the pilgrim mob was to betake itself to the courtyard of the cloister, and the gate should be closed. The friar who kept the gate came to announce that four queer-looking monks demanded admission, were they to be let in?

"There can be no question about it," said Father Gregory. "If any desire admission, bring them to us, and provide refreshment for them."

In a few moments the four friars in question entered. They were dressed in coa.r.s.e black sackcloth habits, with the cowls drawn down over their heads. All that was to be seen of them was their eyes and s.h.a.ggy beards.

With deep obeisances, but without a word, they approached the two reverend gentlemen. The Father rose politely and greeted them respectfully in Latin: "Benedicite nomen Domini." They only kept on bowing and were silent.

"Nomen dei sit benedictum!" repeated Gregory, fancying that his guests did not hear what he said, and as they did not reply to that, he asked with great astonishment:

"Non exandistis nomen gloriosissimi Domini, fratres amantissimi?"

At this the foremost of them said: "We do not understand that language, worthy brother."

"Then what sort of monks are ye? To what confession do ye belong? Are ye Greeks?"

"We are not Greeks."

"Then are you Armenians?"

"We are not Armenians."

"Arians, then?"

"Neither are we Arians."

"Are you Patarenes?"

"No, we are not."

"Then _in gloriam aeterni_ to what order do you belong?"

"We are robbers," thereupon exclaimed the one interrogated, throwing aside the fold of his cloak, beneath which could be seen a belt crammed with daggers and pistols. "My name is Feri Kokenyesdi," said he, striking his breast.

Magyari thereupon leaped from his chair, which he immediately converted into a weapon; it at once occurred to him that he had an only daughter to defend, and he was ready to fight the robbers on behalf of her. But the father pulled him by the ca.s.sock and whispered: "Pray be quiet, your Reverence," and then with an infinitely placid face he turned towards the robbers. "So that is the order to which you belong," said he.

"Still, if you have come as guests, sit down and eat what you desire."

"But that is not sufficient. Outside this monastery there are 1700 of us, and all of them want to eat and drink, for it is only the ancient prophets who, when hungry, were content with the meat of the Word."

"Let them also satisfy their desires."

"However, the main thing is this: in your Reverence's chapel is a whole lot of very nice gold and silver saints, who certainly befriend those who sigh after them, and as we cannot come running to them here every day in order to entreat their aid, we had better take them along with us, that they may be helpful to us on the road."

"Thou hast a pretty mother-wit, frater! Who could refuse thee anything?"

"It is also no secret to us, Father Gregory, that your Reverence's cellar is crammed with kegs full of good money, silver and gold. May we be allowed to relieve your Reverence of a little of this burden?"

"He is quite welcome to it," thought the father, well aware that there was absolutely nothing at all.

"Do not imagine, your Reverence," continued the robber, "that we cannot extort a confession, if it should occur to your Reverence to conceal anything. It would be just as well, therefore, if your Reverence were to reveal everything before we cut up your back with sharp thongs."

The brother smiled as good-humouredly as if he were listening to some pleasing anecdote.

"Have you any other desires, my sons?"

"Yes, a good many. There is a great crowd of women collected together in your Reverence's courtyard. We have taken no vows of celibacy, therefore we should like to choose from among them what would suit us."