CHAPTER VI.
TWO FAMOUS PAEDAGOGUES.
The first of these famous paedagogues was the cantor, worthy Mr. MichaelKorde.
The second was the rector, Thomas Bodza.
Apart from the fact that he had an extraordinary liking for wine andnever could quite distinguish the forenoon from the afternoon, Mr.Michael Korde was a man of refinement to the very tips of his toes.
In his time he had worn out a great many stout hazel switches, it beingthe custom of his establishment to make each pupil provide his own rod.This was no doubt an extra item in the curriculum, but, on the otherhand, there was something to show for it; all those who passed throughhis hands when they subsequently fell into the clutches of the Law couldendure as many as five-and-twenty strokes from the hardest bludgeonwithout so much as wincing. They had been case hardened by theirprevious education.
The schoolhouse was the _vis-a-vis_ of Mr. Korde's own private dwelling.It had never once been whitewashed since it was first built; but, onthe other hand, it was richly adorned outside with the Christian namesand the nicknames of all the urchins who had ever been inside its walls,names to which later generations of scholars had taken good care to addsuch distinguishing epithets as ass, swine, &c., &c. Those, moreover,who possessed a taste for art did not omit to paint on the wall, withred chalk, hussars, two-legged heads with six noses and one eye, largemeerschaum pipes, &c., &c. Here and there, too, the remains of big blackink blots and red splodges, like hideous bunches of cherries, pointed topast combats in which inkpots had been hurled and fists used freely;these pictorial devices, however, were but fragmentary, as the variousgenerations of students had from time to time dug large bits of mortarout of the walls with their nails to serve as sand for blotting theirthemes.
Inside the schoolroom the shapeless battered benches were also carvedall over with names and emblems. The window panes had for the most partbeen broken to bits, and the gaps stuffed with closely written MS. tornout of old exercise books. Layers of dust met the eye everywhere, andthere was a perfect network of dangling spiders' webs in all thecorners.
Such, in all its beauty, was the academical emporium where Mr. MichaelKorde for thirty years had been in the habit of regularly dispensingscience and slaps--with what result we shall see later on.
Worthy Mr. Korde used regularly to return to his own honourabledwelling from the pot-house just when the night-watchmen were going hometo sleep and the cocks were crowing in the morn, and at such times hewould bellow forth ditties the whole way at the top of his voice to theaccompaniment of the howling of all the watch-dogs in the village.
The object of this singing bout was to warn the honest tutor's betterhalf that her lord was approaching, and give her time to open the streetdoor for him.
On safely reaching home he would first of all knock his wife about a bitand break to pieces any odd articles which might stray into his hands,whereupon, after a little miscellaneous cursing and swearing, he wouldfling himself down upon the floor, light his pipe, fall asleep and snorelike a wild hog.
Heaven only knows how it was that he did not burn his house over hishead every day.
The following morning when the children assembled in the schoolhouse andbegan to kick up a most fearful din, the noble paedagogue would scrambleto his feet, shake the straw out of his hair, smooth out his moustache,and gaze with a cannibalistic expression out of the attic window, notrecognising for a moment exactly where he was.
After convincing himself by ocular demonstration that the schoolhousehad not taken wings unto itself and flown, but was still in the oldplace, he would shamble downstairs, stick a couple of canes under hisarm, and go forth to teach.
His pupils meanwhile were engaged in frightful hand-to-hand combats withone another. There were scratched faces and bloody noses everywhere, andwhen the master entered he regularly found all the benches upset andeverybody's hands tugging at his neighbour's hair.
The moment the facial portion of Mr. Michael Korde stumbled against thedoor, the little rebels instantly disentangled themselves from oneanother and attempted to reach their proper places, whence the grandinquisitor hooked them out one by one, and thwacked the whole class inturn with his own honourable hand.
This little commotion used generally to chase slumber somewhat from hiseyes, and when the lads had left off howling a bit, he would measure outto each of them a big slice of catechism, or a similar amount ofHuebner's "Short questions in geography," to be repeated aloud tilllearnt by heart, whilst he himself adjourned to the pot-house. From thisplace of refuge he would send a message to the urchins later in theafternoon that they might go home.
Thereupon there was a general rush for the door (just as when a herd ofswine reaches home, and every one tried to get through first) to anaccompaniment of kicks, cuffs, and the tugging and tearing of clothes.
On Sundays the lads did their best to ferret out where the Lutheranchildren were playing ball. Then they all consulted together, and setoff for the same place with stout sticks in their hands and theirpockets crammed full of stones, and a battle royal forthwith would ensuebetween the youths of the rival creeds. When, then, Monday morning cameround again Mr. Korde conscientiously administered a dose of birch,previously soaked in salt water, to each one of his pupils who appearedin class with a swollen face or a damaged noddle.
On Sunday, moreover, he twice took them with him to church where, duringthe sermon, they either caught blue-bottles under the seats, or playedat knucklebones, or (but this was only when they were particularly wellbehaved) lay down on the floor of the pews and slept like Christians.
And when they grew up and became full-blown louts, their actions stilltestified to the influence of the school in which they had been reared.Whoever was the most skilful farmyard pilferer in the village, whoeverwas the most thorough-paced loafer in the county, could infallibly beregarded as an ex-pupil of Mr. Korde's.
Whoever was regularly chucked out of the pot-house every Sunday evening,whoever brought a broken pate home with him the oftenest, whoever spentmost of his time in the village jail, would be he, you might be quitesure of it, who had picked up the rudiments of learning at the feet ofMr. Korde.
Whoever lied and perjured himself most frequently, whoever could swallowmost brandy at a gulp, whoever knocked his wife about the oftenest,whoever turned his father and mother out of doors, whoever was mostslothful in business, whoever had the filthiest house, whoever was cruelto his horse, whoever sat in the stocks habitually, would be he, youmight safely rely upon it, who had learnt the philosophy of life in theschool of Mr. Korde.
Thus for thirty years had he spread the blessings of science in Hetfaluand its environs.
The second instructor of the people was Thomas Bodza, a panslavistincarnate.
He had but little mind yet much learning. He was one of those men whoremembered all he read without understanding it, a semi-savant and oneof the most dangerous specimens of that dangerous class. Of him, I shallhave occasion to speak presently.
* * * * *
One day Mr. Korde had drunk himself into an unusual state of fuddle.
When I say _unusual_, I mean, that as early as midnight he did not knowwhether he was boy or girl, and took the starry firmament for abass-viol.
He had made a little excursion with his friend the magistrate, Mr.Martin Csicseri, to a little tavern in the outlying vineyards to tastethe new vintages, and there the two gentlemen got so drunk that theywould have found it difficult to explain in what language they wereconversing.
Finally they set off homewards, leaning heavily for support on eachother's shoulders. His honour, Mr. Csicseri suddenly caught sight of abroad ditch by the roadside. He swore by heaven and earth that it was anicely quilted bed, and there and then laid himself down in it and fellasleep.
For some time Mr. Korde kept on pulling and tugging at him to get himout, first by an arm and then by a leg. However, so far from giving hisfriend any encouragement, Mr. Csicseri only rebuked h
is wife for puttingsuch a low pillow beneath his head, and then, without pursuing thesubject further, went off as sound asleep as a humming top.
So the cantor found himself all alone in a strange world.
In front of him lay the high road, and the village was only threehundred yards further on; but wine is a bad compass in a man's noddle,and never points north in the same direction two minutes together.
He resolved, therefore, to return to the inn among the vineyards. Actingstraightway upon this noble resolve, he stumbled along totally unknownpaths up hill and down dale; plunged through field after field of Indiancorn; pursued his endless way through hemp grounds and fallow lands;scrambled on all fours through hedges and ditches, and finally forcedhis way through a vast morass in which he wallowed freely. In a sobercondition he would have come to grief twenty times over, but Fate alwaysprotects the toper.
Then he strayed into a vast forest; zig-zagged through fens and coppiceslike an old dog-wolf; tore himself almost to ribbons among the sloe andblackberry bushes, and emerged at last at a ramshackle forest-keeper'shut, the door of which stood wide open.
By this time he bore not the slightest resemblance to man or beast.
In the courtyard a big, shaggy, lazy mastiff was shambling about, who,on perceiving a strange unknown four-legged animal (Mr. Korde had ceasedfor a time to belong to the category: man) thus approaching him, sidledup to him with incomparable phlegm, and began sniffing at him all round.
Mr. Korde forthwith collared the neck of the huge dog and began kissinghim all over. "Dear friend, faithful old comrade," he cried, "what along time it is since last we met! What! don't you recognise your oldschoolfellow?"--whereupon the big dog in his extreme bewilderment satdown beside the ex-cantor on his haunches and was so astonished that heforgot to bark.
At this Mr. Korde was completely overcome. Once more he warmly pressedthe head of his so unexpectedly recovered friend to his bosom, and thenshambled along with him into the courtyard. He pathetically complainedto him on the way that he had been chucked out of his employment and wasnow a fugitive on the face of the earth, whereupon he fell to weepingbitterly and dried his tears with the mastiff's bushy tail.
The poor dog was so utterly taken aback that it could not recover fromits astonishment. Once or twice it showed its white teeth and growled atthe stranger, but it did not venture to hurt him. No doubt it thoughtthat this strange animal might perhaps be able to bite better thanitself.
Thus the two quadrupeds strolled comfortably together right into thecourtyard. The dog stopped before his three-cornered kennel which Mr.Korde interpreted as an invitation on the part of his respectful hostfor him to go in first, and, accepting the offer in the spirit of truecourtesy, and with the deepest emotion, he squeezed himself into thenarrow dog-kennel, while the dispossessed bow-wow squatted down at theentrance of his house with the utmost astonishment, unablesatisfactorily to explain to himself by what right this strange wildbeast usurped his ancestral holding.
Mr. Korde, however, soon began to snore inside there so terrificallythat the scared dog ran out into the middle of the courtyard and fella-barking with all his might and main, as if he had been offered pitchfor supper instead of meat.
As to what followed, it is extremely doubtful whether Mr. Korde saw itall with his own eyes, or whether it was the dream of a drunken brainimpressed so vividly on his memory by his imagination that subsequentlyhe fancied it to be true.
* * * * *
The moon had gone down and there was a great commotion in the courtyardsurrounding the forester's hut.
A lamp had been lit in the shelter of a shed, and a group of men wasstanding round it--pale, sinister figures, putting their heads closelytogether and listening attentively to a lean, lanky man in a cassock,who was reading a letter to them.
The reader was short-sighted, and as he spelt out the letter he put hisface so near it as to quite cover his features.
"What the deuce is all this about?" thought Mr. Korde to himself as hepeeped through the crevices of the dog's dwelling-place, "what is mycolleague, the myoptic schoolmaster doing here, and why is he buryinghis nose in that bit of paper?"
"I hasten to inform you," so read the man in the cassock, "that the hostile armies are already on the confines of the kingdom. What the object of the enemy is you know right well. He is coming to ravage the realm, wipe out the landed gentry, and divide their estates among the peasantry. What then shall we do? Our peasants are wrath with us for we have treated them very badly, and you, sir, in particular, have no cause to trust them. When you had your house built, as you well remember, you made your serfs work three weeks running for nothing. When you were a young man you ruined the domestic happiness of many a married peasant; you appropriated the communal lands to your own uses; you never bestowed a thought upon the parish church; once you gave the priest a good cudgelling; you kept a poor fellow in jail for four or five years and beat and shamefully treated him. When a poor man wanted to build him a house, you never gave him clay to make bricks with, nor rushes for the thatching of his roof. When lots of planks were rotting away in a corner of your courtyard, and two poor young fellows stole just enough of them to make a coffin for their father, you tied the pair of them up tight in the burning sun and beat their naked bodies with thorny sticks; one of them died a week afterwards of sun-stroke. On one occasion you injured the thigh of a neat-herd on your estate and he is a cripple to this day. When your sheep died of the murrain you hung up their hides to dry--in the schoolhouse. If all these things should now recur to the minds of your tenants, you will have, I fancy, rather a bad time of it. But the rest of us are in the same boat. We never gave a thought to the education of our people. They grew up, they grew old, and all they have ever learnt to know of life is its wretchedness; not one of them therefore has any reason to love us now. What can we do if it comes to an open collision with them? Five hundred thousand gentry against twenty times as many peasants! Why not one of our heads would remain for long in the place where God placed it. We must defend ourselves with the weapons of desperation. It is too late now to try and entice the common folk over to our side, as some of our set want to do who are now distributing no end of wine and corn among their underlings, building sick-houses for them, and putting the priests up to preaching sobriety to them, and the fear of God and due respect for the squire and his family. It is too late now for all that I say. We should only raise suspicions. We must summon Death to our assistance. In order to keep the people down by terror, therefore, we have resolved, in a secret conference, to establish cordons in the various counties and send patrols of soldiers in every direction to search and examine everybody passing to and fro. In this way we shall prevent the people from going from one village to another in large bodies, in fact we must keep them down in every possible way. I, therefore, send you by the bearer of this letter, on whom I can thoroughly rely, a box of powder which you are to scatter about in the barns, the fields, the pastures where the cattle feed, and especially in the wells from which the herdsmen draw water. The county authorities will take care that where this simple method does not do its work, the parish doctor shall compel the peasants to take this powder by force. At the same time we mean to make a great fuss, and spread the rumour that the plague is spreading from the neighbouring states, and will be mortal to many. You, meanwhile, will enclose a large plot of land on your estates, and make a churchyard of it. You may safely make the peasants a present thereof, as it will be mostly filled by them. Take out, by the way, the tongues of all the church-bells, that the number of the dead may not cause any commotion. You might also have prayers said in the church to avert the calamity, and at the same time scatter the powder broadcast. A separate cemetery must be dug lest the plague sprea
d among the gentry. In this way we shall kill two birds with one stone: in the first place the peasantry will be sensibly diminished, and, taking the whole thing as a Divine visitation, will not have the spirit to rise up; and in the second place, the enemy hearing that the plague has broken out among us will fear to pitch his camp here lest it fare with him as it fared with King Sennacherib, who lost his whole army in a single night, as the Bible testifies.
"Believe me, my dear brother-in-law, "Always affectionately yours, "AMBROSE LIGETI."
"The letter is addressed to the noble Benjamin Hetfalusy."
"Horrible, horrible!" cried two or three of the men, while the restremained speechless with amazement.
"Softly, my friends!" said the rector soothingly. "We must do nothinghastily. So much is certain, however: they have designs upon our lives,and would wipe us clean out."
"Not a doubt of it, else why should they be so friendly towards us? Whyshould they distribute among us such a lot of food? We have never yetasked an alms from our masters, and hitherto they have snatched thefood from our very mouths. If they caress us now it is because they fearus."
"Yes, they would destroy us. The other day they gave me a glass ofbrandy to drink at the tavern. I saw at once that it was not the usualsort of stuff, and, to make certain, I dipped a bit of bread in it andthrew it to a dog, and he would not eat it."
"And why do the parsons preach so much about the scourge of God, thepestilence? Why we have never had a better promise of harvest than now.How do they know when Death will come? Only God can know beforehand whomHe will destroy and whom He will keep alive."
"Suspend your judgments, my good friends," resumed the rector, with anaffectation of benevolence, "you can see that the hand of God is over usall. He can work great wonders, and it is not impossible that thesewonders will come. You can perceive from the signs of Heaven that greatchanges are about to come on the earth. On Good Friday a bloody rainfell near the hill of Madi; not long ago a flaming sword was visible inthe sky three nights running; everywhere about curious big fungi haveshot up from the ground, which turn red or green immediately they arebroken. Earth and sky seem to feel that the hand of God is about topress heavily upon us."
("Deuce take this instructor of the people for befooling them so!"thought Mr. Korde in his dog-kennel.)
"Did you notice, my brothers, how the rats roamed all about the roadsin broad daylight a fortnight ago, how they scuttled away from ourlandlords' granaries, and set out for another village, and how theystiffened and died in heaps on the way?"
"There you are!" shouted one wiseacre, "the corn in the granary waspoisoned!"
("Plague take thee, thou clodpole!" growled the cantor in hishiding-place; "it was the rats that were poisoned, not the corn.")
"And we borrowed of that very corn a fortnight ago to last us tillharvest time."
"Then now we'll pay them back with interest!" bellowed one of therustics, fiercely flourishing a pitchfork.
("I'll swear that's one of my pupils, he is so pugnacious," thought thecantor to himself.)
"And I have already eaten bread made of that very corn, God help me!"cried another; "it is as blue as a toadstool when you break it in two."
("Lout! Tares and other rubbish were mixed up with it, and that made itlook blue!")
"And after I had eaten it I felt like to bursting."
("Naturally, for your wife did not bake it sufficiently, and you stuffedit into your greedy jaws while it was still hot.")
"Yes, not a doubt of it, we have all been poisoned, we have eaten ofDeath."
"My friends, allow me to put in a word," said the benign rector. "Youknow that I have always desired your welfare; but look now! this mortaldanger has appeared in other districts also, possibly it may be a Divinevisitation. There are villages in which two or three deaths haveoccurred in every house, there are other places in which whole familiesdown to the very last poor member thereof have followed one another tothe grave. I know of a man who a short time ago had nine sons, now hehas nine corpses with him in the house."
"The gentry have killed them also I'll be bound."
"It is so! What would God want with so many dead men?"
"Have patience for a moment, my friends. I don't want to defend thegentry, but I would not condemn anyone unjustly. If there be any truthin this fearful accusation, it will see the light of day sooner orlater, and then the arm of God will not be straitened."
"Thanks for nothing, by that time the whole lot of us will be under thesod."
"Produce the fellow who brought this letter!"
Two stalwart rustics thereupon brought forward upon their shoulders ayoung fellow, bound and pinioned like a trapped wolf, and put him downin the midst of the mob.
"This is the bird who was carrying about the message of death!" criedthe rebels, surrounding the poor wretch. And then one pulled his hair,and another tugged at his ears, and a third tweaked his nose, andeveryone of them was delighted to have found a fresh object on which towreak their furious cruelty.
And all the time the fellow ground his teeth together and said nothing.
It was poor Mekipiros. It was his mauled and bruised shape, hishalf-bestial face that they were torturing and tormenting. There is nosight more terrible than that of a tortured beast that cannot speak.
One of those who had brought him thither was the headsman's apprentice.
This fellow whispered some words in the ear of the rector, and thenplaced himself behind the back of the fettered monster. His face assumedan expression of cold pitilessness, he bit his lips as if he wantedblood, and screwed up his eyes.
"Harken now, my dear son!" said the rector in a gentle voice; "don'tfancy we want to do you any harm, for of course how can you help what iswritten in this letter; but if you want to escape scot free, answertruly and without compulsion to the questions that I am about to put toyou."
The headsman's 'prentice with twitching features gazed fixedly at theinterrogated wretch.
"Who gave you this letter?" asked the rector.
Mekipiros sat there tied with cords so as to be almost bent double withhis head between his knees, and did not seem to be aware that he wasspoken to.
"Do you hear?" whispered the headsman's apprentice hoarsely, at the sametime giving him a vicious pinch.
The monster set up a howl, which lasted only for an instant, then hewas silent again, and his face did not change.
"Is it not true now, my dear son, that a gentleman gave you thisletter?" asked the rector, giving the question another turn.
Mekipiros made no reply.
"I'll make you speak!" yelled his chief persecutor with gnashing teeth,and seizing his head between his muscular fists he shook it violentlybackwards and forwards. "I'll bring you to reason!"
The monster kept on howling so long as his hair was being tugged; hiseyes vanished completely, his head seemed to have grown broader than itwas long; but when they let his head go again he only grinned derisivelyand said nothing.
"My son, bethink you that we do not want to do you any harm if youconfess everything, but, on the other hand, we shall have to chastiseyou unmercifully, as you well deserve, if you stubbornly remainsilent--who gave you this letter?"
"Speak, you wretched dog! What were you told to say? Who gave you thisletter?" hissed the headsman's apprentice in his ear.
"You gave it to me!" cried the wretch defiantly.
"Scoundrel!" thundered the other furiously, at the same time giving theprisoner a kick; "so you want to palm it off upon me, eh? Hie, there!--arope!" The fellow's face was as white as the wall, perhaps with fear,perhaps with anger. The rector also grew pale for a moment.
"Yes, you put it into my hand and told me that I was to----"
"Hold your tongue, you wretched creature! Here we have a peasant cubjust as ragged as anyone of us, and yet he takes it upon himself to ruinhis own kith and kin; I caught him in the act of sprinkling a whitepowder in a well, and the wa
ter of that well is still bubbling andboiling from the virulence of the poison, and yet, as you see, he hasthe face to deny it all."
"It was you who put the powder in my pocket."
"Very good, I suppose you'll say next that I put this purse of gold inyour pocket also? You are surprised, eh? You had better say you got itfrom me, we shall all believe you, of course. Naturally I have sacks andsacks of gold under my bed. The executioner pays his 'prentices withgold, of course, of course."
"You accursed villain!" cried an old peasant, "let him have the rope!String him up and let him swing!"
"No, my friends, we must not kill him, we have need of him, he must livebecause he knows so much."
"Then let him out with it."
"Oh, he will talk presently," said the headsman's 'prentice, and foldinghis arms he stood right in front of the defenceless wretch. "My lad,"said he, "you know, don't you, that I have been the headsman's assistantthese six years? You know, don't you, that I am accustomed to tortureand kill man and beast in cold blood? You know the sort of smile withwhich I am wont to reply to the agonised despair of my victim, and thememory of it ought to make your brain freeze in your skull. Very well!Let me tell you that I am prepared to practice upon you all therefinements of my infernal handiwork if you do not say all I want youto?"
"I know nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I have forgotten all you taught me."
"You lying serpent! Do you mean to say, then, that I taught youanything? You can see, all of you, that this ripe gallows-tree blossomis determined at any cost to saddle me with his sins. I'll refreshenyour memory for you," murmured the headsman's assistant, grinding histeeth. "Carry him over yonder under that plank. You must put out thelamp, for perchance anyone who caught sight of his face might feel sorryfor him. Lay him on that block. Where is the rope? A bucket of waterhere in case he faints..."
From that moment the cantor saw nothing for the darkness, but all themore horrible, therefore, were the pictures which his imaginationpainted for him as it laid hold of the fragments of words and soundswhich reached him at intervals from the outhouse.
The cold-blooded murmuring of the headsman's assistant.
The inquisitorial procedure of the rector.
The frantic cursing of the bystanders.
And from time to time a despairing howl uttered by the tortured monster,a howl which set the terrified dog a-barking, and made him scratch upthe ground beneath the gate in order to make his escape.
The cantor began to shiver as with ague.
"The horrible beast won't confess," he heard a couple of furious voicessay quite close to him.
"Don't howl like that, but answer my questions," hissed the rector,evidently losing patience.
"The wretched creature tires me out," grunted the executioner. "He biteshis lips and smiles right in my face when his very bones are cracking."
"Speak the truth, and you shall be free. We will let you go."
"He's still laughing at me."
Then for some time could be heard a great bustle and clatter in the shedout yonder. There were sounds of hasty, yet cold-blooded preparationsfor completing something which ought to have been finished long before.There was a sound of running to and fro, of panting and puffing andstraining.
And all this time the monster kept on laughing defiantly, though now andthen he set up an unearthly howl, and then the whole assembly cursed himfor an obstinate gallows-bird.
"Red-hot irons here!" yelled at last a voice of malignant fury, andimmediately three of the boors set off running towards the stable. A fewminutes later the cantor saw them hastening back to the shed, carryingflaming red objects, which scattered a long trail of sparks behindthem.
"Will you confess?" sounded from within.
The monster yelled in the most ghastly manner, and then could be heard asavage gurgling sound For a few seconds the people inside the shed weresilent, and then they could be heard whispering to each other withmingled surprise and amazement: "If the cub has not bitten his owntongue out!"
The cantor took advantage of the general consternation to crawl forthfrom his hiding-place in the darkness, slipped out through the holescratched by the dog beneath the gate, and then set off running like onewho runs down a steep mountain-side; he ran with his eyes fast closed,and early next morning he was found huddled up on the threshold of hisown house in a state of collapse.
When he came to himself he sent for some worthy men of his acquaintancewhom he could trust, and told them privately what he had seen,frequently hiding his face during his narration, as if to shut out thespectacle of the monster's bloody face.
But his acquaintances, after listening to his tale, only shook theirheads, and remarked to one another, what a horrible thing it is when aman is so fond of wine that it takes more than three days to make himget sober again.
It occurred to nobody that there might be some truth in the matter afterall. It was not the first time that Mr. Korde had had visions ofcopper-nosed owls and other horrors.
"As if a man could believe everything that Mr. Korde said!"