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, massive 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 nobleman, out of gratitude to the holy spring, enriched the altar with gold and silver plate.

The larger part of the building was reserved for noble 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 grassy 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 shining 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 butter, 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 coarse black sackcloth habits, with the cowls drawn down over their heads. All that was to be seen of them was their eyes and shaggy 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 æterni_ 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 Kökényesdi," 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 cassock 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."

Magyari felt the hairs of his head rising heavenwards, a cold shiver ran through him from head to foot, and he would have risen from his place had not the monk pressed him down with a frightfully heavy hand.

"For God's sake, my dear son, do not so wickedly. Take away the saints from the altar if you like, but harm not the innocent who are now peacefully slumbering in the shadow of God's protection."

"Not another word, Brother Gregory," cried the robber, closing his fist on his dagger, "or I'll set the monastery on fire and burn every living soul in it, yourself included. A robber only recognises four sacraments: wine, money, wenches, and blood! You may congratulate yourself if we are content with the third and dispense with the last."

"So it is!" observed another of the cowled and bearded robbers, tapping Magyari on the shoulder. "Do you recognise me, eh, your Reverence?"

Magyari, with a sensation of shuddering loathing, recognised Szénasi, a canting charlatan whose frauds he had often exposed.

"We know well enough," said the fellow with an evil chuckle, "that you have a fair daughter here. I am going to pay off old scores."

If Magyari had not been well in the brother's grip, he would have gone for the wretch. Every fibre of his body was shivering with rage.

Only the brother remained calm and smiling. Joining his hands together, he made a little mill with the aid of his two thumbs.

"Wait, my dear son, cannot we come to some agreement. You know very well that my money is concealed in barrels, but so well hidden is it that none besides myself know where it is. Even if you turned this monastery upside down you would not find it. You may also have heard that once upon a time there lived a kind of men called martyrs, who let themselves be boiled in oil, or roasted on red-hot fires, or torn in pieces by wild beasts, without saying a word which might hurt their souls. Well, that is the sort of man _I_ am. If I make up my mind to hold my tongue, you might tear me to bits inch by inch with burning tweezers, and you would get not a word nor a penny out of me. Now 'tis for you to choose. Will you carry off the money and leave the poor women-folk alone, or will you lay your hands on the down-trodden, lame, halt, consumptive beggar-women, whom you will find here, and not see a farthing? Which is it to be?"

The four robbers whispered together. No doubt they said something to this effect: only let the pater produce his money, and then it will be an easy thing for us to take back our given word and satisfy our hearts' desires. They signified that they would stand by the money.

"Look now! you are good men," said the father, "take these two torches and come with me to the cellar and go through my treasures, only you must do none any harm."

"A little less jaw, please," growled Kökényesdi. "Two go in front with the torches, and Brother Gregory between you. I'll follow after; the magister can remain behind to look after the other parson. Whoever speaks a word or makes a signal, I'll bring my axe down on his head--forward!"

And so it was. Two of the robbers went in front with torches; after them came the brother with Kökényesdi at his heels with a drawn dagger in his hand; last of all marched Magyari, whom Master Szénasi held by the collar at arm's-length, threatening him at the same time with a flashing axe.

Thus they descended to the cellar. The good father, with timid humility, hid his head in his hood and looked neither to the left nor to the right.

The cellar was provided with a large, double, iron trap-door. After drawing out its massive bolts, the worthy brother raised one of its flaps, bidding them lower the torches for his convenience.

As now the first robber descended and the second plunged after him, the father suddenly kicked out with his monstrous wooden shoe and brought the door down on his head, so that he rolled down to the bottom of the stairs; and then, quick as thought, he turned upon Kökényesdi, seized his hands, and said to Magyari:

"You seize the other!"

Kökényesdi, in the first moment of surprise, thrust at the brother, but his dagger glanced aside against the stiff hair-shirt, and there was no time for a second thrust, for the terrible brother had seized both his hands and crushed them against his breast with irresistible force with one hand, while with the other he dispossessed him of all the murderous weapons in his girdle one by one, shaking him with one hand as easily as a grown man shakes a child of nine; then he dragged him towards the cellar door, pressing it down with their double weight so that those below could not raise it.

Mr. Magyari that self-same instant had caught the magister by the nape of the neck and, mindful of the wrestling trick he had learnt in his youth when he was a student at Nagyenyed, quickly floored, and, not content with that, sat down on the top of him with his whole weight, so that the poor meagre creature was flattened out beneath him. Magyari at the same time relieved his sprawling hands of their murderous weapons in imitation of the good priest.

Kökényesdi admitted to himself that never before had he been in such a hobble. In a stand-up fight he had rarely met his equal, and more than once he had held his own against two or three stout fellows single-handed; but never had he had to do with such a man as Brother Gregory, one of whose hands was quite sufficient to pin his two arms uselessly to his side, while with the other hand he explored his remotest pockets to their ultimate depths and denuded them of every sort of cutting and stabbing instrument. When the robber realized that even his gigantic strength was powerless to drag his antagonist away from the cellar door beneath which his two comrades were vainly thundering, he endeavoured to free himself by resorting to the desperate devices of the wild-beasts, lunging out with his feet and worrying the iron hand of the monk with his teeth; whereupon Brother Gregory also lost his temper and, seizing Kökényesdi by the hair of his head, held him aloft like a young hare, so that he was unable to scratch or bite any more.

"Do not plunge about so, dilectissime; you see it is of no use," said the brother, holding the robber so far away from him by his hairy poll with outstretched hand that at last he was obliged to capitulate.

"Thou seest what unmercifulness thou dost compel us to adopt, amantissime!" said the brother apologetically, but still holding him aloft with one hand and shaking a reproving finger at him with the other. "Dost thou not shudder at thyself, does not thine own soul accuse thee for coming to plunder holy places? Or dost thou not think of the Kingdom of Hell to the very threshold of which evil resolves have misguided thy feet, and where there will be weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth?"

"Let me go, you devil of a friar!" gasped the robber, hoarse with rage.

"Not until thou hast come to thyself and art sorry for thy sins," said the brother, still holding in the air his dilectissime, whose eyes by this time were starting out of his head because of the tugging pressure on his hair; "thou must be sorry for thy sins."

"I am sorry then, only let me go!"

"And wilt thou turn back to the right path?"

"Yes, yes, of course I will."

"And thou wilt steal no more?"

"Not a cockchafer."

"Nor curse and swear?"

"Never no more."

"Very well, then, I'll let thee go. But, colleague Magyari, first of all tie all these daggers and axes together and fling them out of the window."

Mr. Magyari, who had meanwhile disposed of the magister by tying his hands and legs so tightly that he was unable to move a muscle, effected the clearance confided to him, while Brother Gregory deposited on the ground his convert, who leaned against the wall breathing heavily.

"Well, you monk of hell, give me something to eat if there's anything like a kitchen here."

"Oh, my dear son," said the pater tenderly, stroking the face of his lambkin; "believe me, that there is more joy in heaven over one converted sinner----"

"You're a devil, not a friar; for if you were a man of God you could not have got over Kökényesdi so easily--Kökényesdi, who was wont to overthrow whole armadas single-handed--and now to be beaten by an unarmed man!"

"Thou didst come against me with an axe and a _fokos_,[14] but I came against thee in the name of the Lord of Hosts, and He who permitted David the shepherd to pluck the raging lion by the beard and slay him, hath aided my arm also in order that I might be a blessing to thee."

[Footnote 14: Sledge-hammer.]

"Blessing indeed!--hang me up! I deserve it for letting myself be collared by a parson."

"Oh, my dear son, to attribute such flagrant cruelty to me! Heaven rejoices not in the death of a sinner."

"Then let me go!"

"How could I let thee go when thou art but half converted? Rather remain here, my son, in this holy seclusion and try and cleanse thy soul by holy penance and prayer."

The robber foamed with rage.

"Where is there a nail that I may hang myself upon it?"

"That thou certainly wilt never be able to do, for a worthy pater shall always be by thy side to teach thee how to sing the Psalter."

The robber gnashed his teeth and stamped with his feet as he cast at the terrible brother bloodshot glances very similar to those which a hyena casts upon a beast-tamer whom he would like to tear to bits and grind to mincemeat, but whom he durst not attack, being well aware that if he but lay a paw or even cast an eye upon him he will instantly be felled to the ground.

"Besides that," continued the brother, "by way of a first trial thou shalt presently deliver a God-fearing discourse."

"I preach a sermon!"

"Not exactly a sermon, but inasmuch as thy faithful followers outside the walls of the monastery may be growing impatient at thy long absence, thou wilt stand at a window and, after assuring them of thy heart-felt penitence, thou wilt send the worthy fellows away that they may depart to their own homes."

"Very well," said Kökényesdi, thinking all the time, let me once be planted at the window in the sight of my bands and at a word from me they will break up the whole monastery, and I will leap out to them at the first opening.

Then Brother Gregory called Magyari aside and whispered in his ear: "You meanwhile will get the carriage ready and take your seat in it with your daughter, and as soon as you perceive that the rabble has departed from the monastery, you will drive straight to Klausenburg and inform Mr. Ebéni, the commandant, that a mixed band of freebooters, together with the garrison of Szathmár, has invaded the realm. I detected a helmet beneath a cowl of one of the rascals I kicked into the cellar. Try to defend the capital against their attacks. God be with you!"

The two priests pressed each other's hands, whereupon Brother Gregory, taking the robber by the arms and shoving him through a little low door, in order that no mischief might befall him, caught him by the nape of the neck and began to force him to ascend a narrow corkscrew staircase, two or three steps at a time.

It was evening now and dark, and there was nothing about the corkscrew staircase to suggest to the robber whither he was being led till at last the brother opened a trapdoor with his head and emerged with him on to a light place and deposited him in front of a lofty window.

The robber's first thought was that he could clear the window at a single bold leap, but one swift glance from the parapet made him recoil with terror; beneath him yawned a depth of at least fifty ells, and, glancing dizzily aloft, he perceived hanging above his head the bells of the monastery. They were in the tower.

"So now, my dear son," said the brother, "stand out on this parapet and call in a loud voice to thy faithful ones that they may draw nigh and hear thee. Then thou wilt speak to them, and in case thou shouldst be at a loss for words, I shall be standing close by this bell-tongue to suggest to thee what thou shalt say. But, for God's sake, beware of thyself, dilectissime! Thou seest what a frightful depth is here below thee, and say not to thy faithful followers anything but what I shall suggest to thee, nor give with thy head or thy hand an unbecoming interpretation to thy words, for if thou doest any such thing, take my word for it that at that same instant thou shalt fall from this window, and if once thou dost stumble, thou wilt not stop till thou dost reach the depths of hell."

The robber stood at the window with his hair erect with horror. He actually trembled--a thing which had never occurred to him before. His valour, that cold contempt for death which had always accompanied him hitherto, forsook him in this horrible position. He felt that at this giddy height neither dexterity nor audacity were of the slightest use to him. Beneath his feet was the gaping abyss, and behind his back was a man with the strength of a giant from whom a mere push--nay! the mere touch of a finger, or a shout a little louder than usual, were sufficient to plunge him down and dash him into helpless fragments on the rocks below. The desperate adventurer, in a fever of terror never felt before, crouched against one of the pillars of the window clutching at the wall with his hand, and it seemed to him as if the wall were about to give way beneath him, as if the tower were tottering beneath his feet; and he regarded the ground below as if it had some horrible power of dragging him down to it, as if some invisible force were inviting him to leap down from there.

Meanwhile his bands, who were lying in ambush outside the monastery, perceived the form of their leader aloft and suddenly darted forward in a body with a loud yell.

"Speak to them, attract their attention!" whispered the brother; "quick, mind what I say!"

The robber indicated his readiness to comply by a nod of his swimming head, and repeated the words which the brother concealed behind the tongue of the bell whispered in his ear.

"My friends" (thus he began his speech), "the priests are collecting their treasures; they are piling them on carts; there are sacks and sacks crammed with gold and silver."

A hideous shout of joy from the auditors expressed thorough approval of this sentence.

"But the worthy brethren have no wine or provisions in this monastery, but in their cellars at Eger there is plenty, so let two hundred of you go there immediately and get what you want."

The freebooters approved of this sentiment also.

"As for the desires that you nourish towards the womenfolk here, I am horrified to be obliged to tell you that for the last three days the black death, that most terrible of plagues, which makes the human body black as a coal even while alive, and infects everyone who draws near it, has been raging within the walls of this monastery during the last three days. I should not therefore advise you to break into this monastery, for it is full of dead and dying men, and so swift is the operation of this destroying angel that my three comrades succumbed to it even while I was ascending this tower, and only the Turkish talisman I wear, composed of earth seven times burnt, and the little finger of a baby that never saw the light of day, have preserved me from destruction."

By the way, Father Gregory had discovered all these things while he was investigating the robber's pockets.

At this terrifying message the horde of robbers began to scatter in all directions from beneath the walls of the monastery.

"For the same reason neither I myself nor the treasure of the monastery can leave this place till all the gold and silver that has been found here has been purified first by fire, then by boiling, and then by cold water, lest the black death should infect you by means of them. And now before making a joint attack on Klausenburg, as we had arranged--which, in view of the height of its walls and the strength of its fortress, would scarcely be a safe job to tackle--you will do this instead: Hide yourselves in parties of two hundred in the forests of Magyar-Gorbo, Vista and Szucság, and remain there quietly without showing yourself on the high road; at the same time four hundred of you will go round at night by the Korod road, and the rest of you will make for the Gyalu woods, and go round towards Szász Fenes. Then, when the garrison of Klausenburg hears the rumour that you are approaching by the Korod road, they will come forth with great confidence; and while some of you will be enticing them further on continually, the rest of you can fall on the defenceless town and plunder it. All you have to do is to act in this way and never show yourselves on the high road."

The robbers expressed their approval of their leader's advice with a loud howl; and while Kökényesdi tottered back half senseless into the brother's arms, they scattered amongst the woods with a great uproar. In an hour's time all that could be heard of them was a cry or two from the darkened distance.

The people assembled in the monastery had been listening to all this in an agony of terror; only Magyari understood the meaning of it. When the brother came down from the tower, Kökényesdi was locked up with his two comrades, and the two reverend gentlemen embraced and magnified each other.

"After God, we have your Reverence to thank for our deliverance," said Magyari with warm feeling, holding his trembling little daughter by the hand.

"But now we must save Klausenburg," said Gregory.

"I will set out this instant; my horse is saddled."

"Your Reverence on horseback, eh? How about the girl?"

"I will leave her here in your Reverence's fatherly care."

"But think."

"Could I leave her in a better place than within these walls, which Providence and your Reverence's fists defend so well?"

"But what if this robber rabble discover our trick and return upon the monastery with tenfold fury?"

"Then I will all the more certainly hasten to defend the walls of your Reverence, because my only child will be within them."

With that the pastor kissed the forehead of his daughter, who at that moment was paler than ever, fastened his big copper sword to his side, seized his shaggy little horse by the bridle, opened the door for himself, and, with a stout heart, trotted away on the high road.

But the brother summoned into the chapel the whole congregation, and late at night intoned a thanksgiving to the Lord of Hosts; after which Father Gregory got into the pulpit and preached to the faithful a powerful and fulminating sermon, in which he stirred them up to the defence of their altars, and at the end of his sacred discourse he seized with one hand the gigantic banner of the church--which on the occasion of processions three men used to support with difficulty--and so stirred up the enthusiastic people that if at that moment the robbers had been there in front of the monastery, they would have been capable of rushing out of the gates upon them with their crutches and sticks and dashing them to pieces.