The minister bowed low; then held his head erect and said significantly:

"Those mightier than I will accomplish it."

At this moment the door opened and a servant announced:

"Her Highness Anna Bornemissa, wife of Apafi, wishes to be admitted to the presence of the Prince."

Apafi looked at Teleki.

"This is your work."

Teleki answered calmly: "At your service, Highness."

"Did you bring the ambassador to the Princess?"

"Even so, Highness."

"Then it was you who advised him to appear in this masquerade that he might the more readily draw me out."

"That too was my work, your Highness."

"A very foolish plan on your part, Michael Teleki."

"That remains to be proved, your Highness," thought his minister, in proud consciousness of his clever superiority.

Madame Apafi entered the room. Her bearing was princely as was her dress. The gentlemen present vied with each other in greeting her. Apafi stepped quickly toward her, drew her arm within his and endeavored with marked consideration to take her to his private room.

"Let us stay here," said the Princess. "It is time enough to look at your Dutch clocks later; at present there are more serious affairs before us; the gentlemen from Hungary are waiting for a hearing."

"I know already what they wish, and have said that I will not hear anything more on the subject."

"Then you will listen to me. Yes, to me. I too am a Hungarian and make supplication to the Prince of Transylvania for help in the name of my Fatherland. That it may not be said that I influenced the Prince's will in secret, I have come here publicly before his throne and beseech him for protection for Hungary, whose sons are called strangers here in Transylvania where her daughter is the princess."

It was evident to all that Apafi would have much preferred to listen to men rather than to his wife, but he was caught this time. She stood before him as a suppliant, and there was no way of escape. Teleki ordered the pages outside not to give admittance to any one else. Apafi sat in an armchair in feverish excitement, and listened to the words of his wife. But before Anna could begin her speech the rattling of a coach was heard in the courtyard, and shortly after came the sound of decided footsteps through the corridor, and an imperious voice familiar to all inquired if the Prince was within.

When the page attempted to stand in his way a still more authoritative voice called, "Out of the way, boy." At the same time Dionysius Banfy pushed his way into the room. He was just as he had alighted from his carriage. His cheeks were redder than usual and his eyes blazed; he went directly to the Prince and said without preliminaries:

"Do not listen to these men, your Highness, do not listen to a word they say."

The Prince greeted Banfy with a smile and the words, "Welcome, kinsman."

"Pardon, your Highness, that in my haste I forgot to greet you; but when I heard that these Hungarians had gained audience here I was beside myself. What do you want?" he went on, turning to the Hungarian nobleman. "It is not enough for them that they have brought their own country to ruin by their restlessness; they would like to drag ours down too."

"You speak of us," said Teleki, with cold scorn, "as if we belonged to some Tartar race and had been driven here from God knows what strange, savage country."

"On the contrary, I have spoken of you, my lords, as people who from the very first have by your restlessness involved Transylvania in a course leading to destruction. The Hungarians are, to a man, stupid."

"I beg you not to forget that I too"—said Madame Apafi.

"It is with no pleasure that I see the will of your Highness is authority here."

Madame Apafi turned to her brother-in-law in injured pride:

"I shall not for that reason cease to remain your well-wishing relative," and with these words she left the room.

"You might have spoken to the Prince more becomingly," said Teleki, sharply, to the great lord.

"What have I said to the Prince, as yet?" asked Banfy, shrugging his shoulders. "I cannot get anywhere near him with you in the way. So far, I have only spoken against those, and shall continue to speak against those who have absolutely no right to stand at the foot of the throne. I mean you too, Michael Teleki. I know very well why you have this Hungarian campaign so much at heart. It is not enough for you to stand first after the Prince in Transylvania, you would like to be Palatine of Hungary as well. What a delusion you are cherishing! The French promise help to Hungary. Hungary promises Teleki the Palatinate. Teleki promises Apafi a crown; and all are lying, and all are going to deceive one another."

"My lord," replied Teleki, bitterly, "is it allowed to speak so to guests, to kinsmen who are unfortunate and in exile?"

"Nobody need instruct me in magnanimity," replied Banfy, proudly. "Guest and fugitive have always found refuge with me; and if these fugitives wish us to share our home, our fatherland with them, here is my hand; I receive them to a share. But in the same way in which I should have the sense to forbid my guests to set fire to the house over my head, so do I protest against setting fire to the country. And if they do not stop trying to disturb the peace once more prospering in our country I will use every means to have them driven out."

"These words need not surprise us," said Teleki in bitter satire, turning to the noblemen, "My gracious lord has been of late years pardoned by the Prince. Before that time he was in arms against us."

Apafi sat uneasily. "Have done with this quarreling. You are dismissed. As you see my counsellors are in opposition and without them I can do nothing."

"We will bring it before the Diet," said Teleki, solemnly.

The Prince withdrew, greatly annoyed, to his private room, and the lords went out the other door.

Banfy looked at him proudly as he went away and then straightened his fur cap.

"My good standing is at an end," he said mockingly as he went away.

Teleki looked after him coldly. When all had gone Teleki whispered a few words to a page, who went away and soon came back with a curly-haired blonde youth.

It seems as if we had already seen this young man at some time, but for so short a time that we cannot at once recall him. Over his warm dress hung a beggar's pouch, and in his hand was a knotted stick.

"So at last you allow me to come into the presence of the Prince," he said in a somewhat imperious tone to Teleki.

"Take your place here at the door," replied the minister. "The Prince will soon pass on his way to dinner; you may then speak with him."

The young man with the beggar's pouch sat for a long time at the Prince's door, until Apafi finally appeared and the beggar placed himself at once in his way.

"Who are you?" asked the Prince astonished.

"I am the ransomed knight Emerich Balassa, who was once named among Hungary's most influential men, and who now stands before your Highness with a beggar's staff."

"You were concerned in that conspiracy, I believe," said Apafi, who appeared unpleasantly affected by the scene.

"I was not, your Highness. If you will deign to listen to my story"—

"Tell it."

"As you well know there was once in Hungary a notorious Turkish robber-knight, by name Corsar Bey, who for a long time laid waste the upper country and whom the united powers of the counties could not succeed in bringing under control, in his rocky fortress. This man I caught by stratagem and in such a manner as to win over to my side his favorite. Under pretext of an apparition she enticed him alone outside the castle. I was duly informed, fell upon him with my men who had been concealed in the forest, and took him captive with his favorite, one of the most beautiful and unprincipled of women."

"I have already heard the story, Balassa. That was a worthy deed."

"Then hear the rest, your Highness. No sooner was the news of the capture spread abroad than the Palatine demanded of me most emphatically to give over my prisoners to him. The Turks had already offered me sixteen thousand ducats for the two, but I would not let them go at any price and sent word to the Palatine that if he wished to call a Bey his own, he must crawl out from behind his wife's shadow and catch one for himself. I had caught mine for my own use."

Apafi laughed loudly. "You gave him the right answer."

"At that the Palatine became angry and by the Emperor's command sent troops against me who were to take my prisoners by force. His Excellency your brother-in-law, Dionysius Banfy, had at that time found refuge in my house and I introduced to him this woman who had completely befooled me. He was to flee with her to my castle, Ecsed. But when I saw that the Palatine interfered with every attempt of mine to deliver Corsar Bey over to the Turks for the offered ransom, and yet all he wanted of him was to cut his head off like any other freebooter's, I gave the Turk poison, which he took gratefully for the sake of escaping justice. Then when the Palatine's troops came they found only the dead body which the Turks took off my hands for a thousand ducats."

"Naturally the Palatine was angry with you for that," said Apafi.

"I had good cause to be angry with him, for I had lost fifteen thousand ducats by him; yet he succeeded in getting a writ of arrest against me from the minister. I scented it in time and got together my valuables, intending to flee to Transylvania until the affair had been forgotten. Then I hurried to my castle Ecsed where, as I have said, Banfy had been sent before me with the Turkish woman. On the way I learned that Banfy had been pardoned by your Highness and restored to his former position. I rejoiced not a little that in him I should find a powerful protector here. Imagine my astonishment when I reached Ecsed to find the woman gone without a trace, and I learned from my castle warden that Banfy had taken her with him and left a letter for me. In the letter was written: 'My friend: Learn from this that a man should never trust another with his horse, his watch, nor his love.'"

"What!" cried Apafi. "Is that the truth?"

"Your Excellency can see his writing," replied Balassa, and drew from his pouch the letter referred to. "The woman must be hid somewhere in his forest of Banfy-Hunyad, I suppose."

"That is monstrous!" said Apafi, glowing with anger. "Can a man with such a beautiful, noble wife, my own wife's sister, so far forget his duty as husband! I'll not forgive him that."

"Pardon me, your Highness, I have nothing more to do with Banfy. My complaint is now urgently directed against Kapi."

"What have you against him? It is unheard-of to have so beautiful a wife and yet keep a Turkish slave woman!"

"This Kapi was the man who had the use of my Transylvania estates. I determined to know nothing more of Banfy and immediately took up my quarters with Kapi in his castle of Aranyos. Of the splendor displayed by this man I had never had the least idea before, although all my life I had been to the courts of Palatines and Princes in no small number. His wife did not put her foot to the ground, but was carried to the very gate in a gilded chair, and she never wore the same gown twice."

"What have I to do with Madame Kapi's finery?"

"I am coming to the point. It is just because of this finery that her husband is compelled to resort to all kinds of trickery to satisfy the wishes of his lady. Furthermore your Highness is concerned, for such immoderate luxury only makes the contrast the more striking between the simplicity of your Excellency's court life and the insolent splendor of these small kings. And it carries its impression with the strangers who so frequently visit us; the effect of it is already felt; for when the Bavarian ambassador came recently to Aranyos from Ebesfalva I heard him say in flattering tones to Madame Kapi that she was the real Princess of Transylvania."

"Did he say that?" said the Prince, beginning to take great interest in the affair. "Go on with your story. Did he say that Kapi's wife was the real Princess?"

"In point of beauty and bearing she is not worthy to tie the shoe of her Highness, the Princess Apafi, if you were to strip her of the costly jewels that she wears in such numbers she can hardly move."

"Go on, go on."

"Now Kapi informed me one fine day that your Excellency had received command from the Palatine to have me arrested and delivered over."

"I— received command— I never heard a word of it!"

"Unfortunately I believed the story, and thinking that I stood between two fires saw no way of escape except to give over to Kapi my Transylvania estates to prevent their falling into the public treasury. In return for this he gave me a written promise that I should have the property back again as soon as I was in a position to receive it. I then determined to flee to Poland during the period of danger. Kapi gave me two guides who were to lead me over the mountains to the frontier, and at the time he sent word secretly to the guard on the frontier that I was a spy sent by the Roman Emperor, who had been finding out the affairs of Transylvania and would now like to get back unseen. These rascals stopped me on the way, robbed me of all my money and papers, and dragged me off to Karlsburg. There, it is true my innocence was proved, but my money and my papers were lost. And now Kapi asserts that I had actually sold him all my property and had nothing left but this leather pouch."

"Be comforted," replied the angered Prince. "I will give you full satisfaction."

"Your Highness owes it to his own authority," replied Balassa, by way of urging on the Prince. "These nobles act as arbitrarily as if there were nobody in authority over them."

"Do not be disturbed. I will soon prove to them that there is a Prince in Transylvania." Apafi left the audience room very much excited.

Over the heads of two powerful men who stood in Teleki's way, the storm was already threatening.

CHAPTER X
THE LIEUTENANT OF THE ROUNDS

In those days there were many duties connected with this office, all of which Clement calmly let slip while he wrote chronicles and epics in abundance. Now his glance rested upon an epic in which he had related the victory of Apafi at Neuhaüsel. This poetic musing had so engrossed Clement's power of thought that an entire week had passed since his serving-man had run away carrying off his master's spurred boots, and he had not yet pursued the faithless servant in spite of his office as Lieutenant of the Rounds. He kept persistently going around in the same circle; when he looked for his boots, he remembered that his servant had stolen them, and when he started to go after his servant he became aware that he had no boots. Under these circumstances where could he make a beginning! So he set himself down and wrote verses without end.

His room had not been swept for a week, so there was no lack of dust and cobwebs, beside the ink spots on the floor all around the table. This table had only two legs, the other two being replaced by piles of tiles.

The poet wrote, scratched out, and chewed the end of his pen. On the window-sill lay a piece of bread and some cheese and it occurred to the poet that this food was intended for his consumption. But first he must use the ink in his pen; before this was finished, a second, third, and fourth thought had crowded on the first; meantime three mice had come out of a chink, sported about the tempting morsel and then gnawed away until there was nothing left. After which they had glided back to their holes.

The poet had worked the Pegasus harnessed to his plow until his senses were gone. When he finally roused himself and looked for his bread and cheese he discovered that only crumbs were left, concluded that he had already eaten and imagined that he was satisfied; so he set himself down again and went on with his poetry. While he was subduing the flesh in this way, there was a scratching at the door; somebody rattled the hinge evidently mistaking it for the latch, and naturally could not open the door. This noise rudely frightened Clement from his poetic thought. When he had called out several times to no purpose that the door was not locked he found himself obliged to rise and open it to prevent the visitor from breaking the latch or taking off the hinge.

There stood a Wallachian with a sealed letter in his hand. He seemed to be much frightened when the door opened, although that was the fulfilment of his wishes.

"What is it?" said Clement, becoming angry when the peasant did not speak.

The Wallachian raised his round eyebrows, looked at the poet with wide-opened eyes and asked: "Are you the man who lies for money?"

In this choice language the Wallachian described the office of our Clement. His veins swelled with anger. "Whose ox are you?" he thundered at the Wallachian.

"The gracious lord's who sent this letter," answered the peasant, slily.

"What is his name?" asked Clement, furiously, and tore the letter from the Wallachian's hand.

"Gracious lord is what he is called."

Clement opened the letter and read: "Come at once to me where the bearer will lead you."

Clement was already raging, but now the thought that he had been summoned somewhere and had no boots made him beside himself.

"Go," he shouted to the Wallachian. "Tell your lord whoever he is, that it is no farther from him to me, than from me to him. If he wishes to speak with me let him take the trouble to come here."

"I understand, Dumnye Macska." In his terror the peasant had called Clement by the name used by the peasants for the Lieutenant of the Rounds, and at once he hurried out of the room.

Clement drew himself up with a great effort in his high-backed chair, and placed two large books on the floor before him that his visitor should not notice that he was barefooted.

Heavy footsteps were soon heard on the street before the house, and when he looked from the window he saw to his great dismay that his visitor was no other than Count Ladislaus Csaki, attended by two Hungarian foot-soldiers with gold lacings.

"Now, Clement," said the poet to himself, "maintain your dignity. It is true he is a Count and a distinguished man, but one who has fallen into disfavor with the Prince while you are in his favor, and besides that are in an official position." So he hid his feet under the books, placed his pen between his lips and bade Csaki come in. He did not even rise at his entrance. Csaki appeared displeased at this reception.

"You know how to maintain your official dignity," he said to Clement.

"What I am, I am, thanks to the favor of the Prince," he replied, with affectation, and folded his arms proudly.

"I have come to you only at the bidding of the Prince. His Highness has intrusted me with a very delicate affair in which I need your help. The affair must be managed with the utmost secrecy and for that reason I could have wished that you should come to me."

At this explanation Clement suddenly lost his insolent manner.

"I beg your pardon," he stammered confusedly and with head humbly bowed. "I did not know— I pray you be seated."

But as the chair in which he sat was the only specimen of the kind in the room, he jumped up to make room for the Count, and in so doing displayed his feet without their customary covering, at which Csaki burst into a hearty laugh.

"What the devil does this mean, Lieutenant," he exclaimed. "Are you like the Turks who take off their boots in excess of reverence?"

"I beg your pardon. I have not taken them off but they were stolen from me by my servant while I slept. This was my only reason for making your Grace such a rude reply. But I dare hope that your Grace has already pardoned me."

Csaki's good-humor was only increased by this explanation.

"Certainly, if that is all, we will relieve your distress at once," he said. And he ordered the soldier waiting without to bring his own dress boots in the carriage box for the Lieutenant.

Clement was just opening his lips to make some objections—the favor shown him was too great—when he caught sight of the boots; they pleased him greatly, for they were made of royal green morocco, stitched with gold threads, trimmed on each side with broad gold fringe and finished with enameled spurs.

"Put them on quickly," said Csaki to the Lieutenant. "You must be on your way at once without delay."

Clement took one of the boots by the two straps and began to draw it on, first looking in with a satisfied smile, but it was no small task for Csaki wore a very narrow cavalier's boot. Clement, on the other hand, moved on moderately large feet, so that he had to begin from the very beginning as many as three times and give it up from the very beginning as many times, thoroughly tired before he succeeded in getting his foot into the leg of the boot; in these exertions he worked his eyes and mouth so that Ladislaus Csaki had to put his head out of the window, he was so overcome with laughter. Then he came to the heel and there he stuck; he seized the foot gear firmly by both straps and began to stamp himself into it, thumping about the room in this bent position and groaning loudly at every push, till his eyes stood out and the perspiration ran down his face, before he had worked his way into the first boot. The same difficulties attended the second boot; but after he had used six-horse power to get his foot into this insufficient space he looked at his shining tight boots with a glow of satisfaction, though they were not in perfect harmony with the rest of his dusty, greasy, ink-spotted clothing.

"Now listen carefully to what I tell you," said Csaki, seating himself on the only chair with an air of authority, while the student still standing, lifted first one foot and then the other and his face turned green and blue with pain, for the boots began to make havoc with his corns.

"When did you make your last circuit?"

"I don't remember exactly."

"But you ought to know. Why did you not make a note of it? The Prince wishes you to set out at once and make your round without delay, paying special attention to the districts lying between Torocko, Banfy-hunyad, and Bonczida; in addition to the usual questions you are to add this one, Has anybody seen any foreign animals in the surrounding woods?"

"'Foreign animals,'" repeated mechanically the doleful official.

"And if anywhere you receive the reply that such have been seen, you are to go through that locality and examine carefully until you get track of them."

"I beg your pardon, but what kind of animals will they be?" asked the student, timorously.

"Oh, have no fear, it is neither a seven-headed dragon nor a minotaur. At the worst a young panther."

"Panther"—stammered Clement in terror.

"You are not expected to catch him," said Csaki, consolingly. "You are to hunt out where he stays and then let us know."

"Suppose that beast of prey, whose presence in Transylvania I doubt greatly, should happen to be in the territory of Dionysius Banfy, what shall I do then?"

"Follow him up."

"I beg your pardon, but his territory is baronial, where my authority does not extend."

"Don't be such a simpleton, Clement," said Csaki. "I did not say, did I, that you were to go with an armed guard? The entire expedition must be kept a secret. You and your guide alone are to get track of the beast. We have positive information that he is somewhere in this vicinity. Now a careful investigation is demanded of your skill. The rest will be given over to more fearless workers."

The entire mission seemed to Clement a very strange one, but he did not dare make any objection, and bowed with a deep sigh.

"Above everything else, skill, speed, secrecy. These are the three things that I recommend to your especial consideration."

"I will set out at once, gracious lord, only I must borrow a horse somewhere first, so I shall not ruin these fine boots with walking."

"That would delay matters. You must not exert yourself about a horse; one of my servants shall give up his and you can mount that. Don't forget to think of his fodder, so that you will bring him back something besides skin and bones."

So much kindness fairly bewildered Clement. In all haste he strapped on his traveling bag and his rusty sword; and after he had put in the first a roll of parchment, a pen, and a bottle of ink, declared himself ready.

"That is a light traveling bag of yours," said Csaki.

"'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu,'" replied the philosopher, with a quotation from Horace, and, the reins being handed him, made ready to mount.

But when the spirited steed noticed that the philosophical student had put one foot in the stirrup he began to kick and circle round, compelling the poet to jump round on one foot until the laughing servant seized the horse by the bridle and helped the inoffensive rider to mount. But as he had long legs and the soldiers had shortened the stirrups, he had to stoop on his horse as if it were a camel.

Once more Ladislaus Csaki called after him not to forget his injunctions, at which the poet unintentionally struck spurs to his horse and galloped madly away over the stones. Coat, sword and traveling bag flew about the unhappy rider. He held fast to the front and back of the saddle and rode on amid the laughter of the villagers of Torocko, who sat in groups in front of their houses.

First the Lieutenant took the road to Gross-Schlatten. Formerly when he had a servant, the servant constituted his retinue. But now for lack of a servant he was compelled to go from town to town in solitude, following the directions of the village magnate. As he was trotting through a defile he noticed in a thicket a group seated about a fire. At first he thought it was a party of gypsies, until approaching nearer he discovered to his great horror that they were Tartars who were roasting an ox and sat around it in a circle. To turn around was not advisable for the way led straight past the Tartars sunning themselves, so Clement decided it was best to act as if he had no fear, and trotted calmly past the staring group. He pretended to be counting with greatest interest the fruit beside the road, and when he was quite near took off his hat as if he noticed them for the first time, murmured hurriedly, "Salem Aleikum," and rode on without looking behind. So far, so good; but at this moment up jumped two Tartars and shouted after the rider to stop. When Clement saw that the two were running toward him without any weapons, he thought perhaps they had no intention of murder and waited for them. But when the two dark-faced creatures came near, they seized the rider between them, caught hold of his legs and gave evidence of no less intentions than to strip him of his fine boots.

"A curse upon your soul!" shouted the furious Clement, laid hold of his rusty sword and tried to draw it and cut off one of their ears. But the good blade had not been drawn from its scabbard for ten years and was so rusted that, in spite of all his efforts, Clement could not draw it out. Meantime the two Tartars pulled the struggling rider this way and that by his legs and naturally did not succeed in getting off the tight boots. The Tartars berated Clement, and Clement berated the Tartars. The uproar brought the Aga, a man with a figure like an orang-outang, his brown features framed by a white beard, who inquired hoarsely what was the matter.

Clement drew out his warrant of authority and showed it to the Aga in silence, for rage stifled his voice, while the two Tartars explained something in a foreign tongue, with angry gestures, and pointed to his green boots.

"Who are you, crooked-nosed unbeliever," inquired the Aga, "that you dare wear light-green, the sacred color of the prophets, that the faithful use only for the dances of their temples and the turban of the Padisha, and that too on your boots that go through the mud? May you be burned alive, you godless giaour!"

"I am the lieutenant reconnoitering in the service of his Excellency, Michael Apafi," declaimed the former student, with pathetic distress. "My person is sacred and inviolable. I am the man who provides the armies of the Sultan with food and drink. I impose the taxes. Let me go for I am a very important personage."

This manner of defense pleased the Tartars. The Aga gave his subjects a tacit sign that meant this was the very man they wanted, and then began to speak to him in a more friendly tone.

"You said that it was your business to announce the taxes. My lord, Ali Pasha of Nagy Varad, has just sent me here to announce a new tax, so I have met you at the right moment although it is nothing for you to do; it will, however, be a sensible thing for you to give this out at the same time."

"I will do so with pleasure," said Clement, eager to get away.

"Wait a moment," said the Aga, motioning to him. "You do not know yet how high the tax is to be. The whole amount is a mere trifle; it is imposed only so that they may recognize our authority. The tax is only a penny a head. That is not much, is it?"

"No indeed," said Clement, agreeing that he might get away the more quickly.

"Don't hurry off," said the Aga, checking his haste. "I should be sorry to see that you did not carry out this order of mine. But as you would not consider it any perjury not to keep a promise given to us I will send one of my good men with you, who shall accompany you from village to village and see that you make the proclamation about the tax."

"By all means, your Grace," said Clement, hoping to get rid of the man in the next village.

"Mount, Zulfikar," said the Aga, to one of his men.

The man spoken to was a lean fellow with an evil, squinting glance. Although he was as dirty as the rest, his features showed that he did not belong to the same race, and if we paid close attention to so unimportant individuals, we might remember that we had already seen him somewhere.

"One thing more," said the Aga to Clement, eager to get off at any price. "As soon as you get home lay aside those green boots, for if I should see them on your feet again you would get five hundred stripes on the soles of your feet, that you would keep until your wedding day."

Clement agreed to everything in his joy to get away at last, and trotted off toward Gross-Schlatten. His Tartar comrade rode faithfully by his side. From time to time the Lieutenant gave a side glance at his companion and then looked away quickly, for as the Turk was cross-eyed Clement never felt sure which way he was looking. And all the time he was considering how easily he could dupe the Tartar, a thought that made him smile to himself, blink and nod with satisfaction.

"You will not play any tricks on me, Lieutenant," said the Tartar, unexpectedly, and in the best of Hungarian, evidently reading these thoughts on his face.

Clement almost fell off his horse with fear, unable to comprehend what fiend he could be to read a man's thoughts on his face, and speak Hungarian in spite of being a Tartar.

"You need not rack your brains any more about me," said the Turk, calmly. "I am a Hungarian deserter once in the service of Emerich Balassa. I helped seize and imprison Corsar Bey, and when the Hungarians began to pursue me for it I turned Turk. Now with the Prophet's aid I shall yet be Pasha, so don't exert yourself to get the better of me, for be assured you are dealing with an old fox."

Clement scratched his head in perplexity, and attended by the deserter, much against his will concluded his official questions with the announcement of the penny tax which the people all received with so much favor that most of them paid it over to the Tartar at once.

But nobody had seen anything of the panther; and had it not been for their respect for the green boots with their trimmings they would probably have laughed in his face when the Lieutenant put that question.

There was still one small Wallachian village, Marisel, far away in the mountains. Beyond that began the territorial jurisdiction of Banfy, and the Lieutenant's authority was at an end. There too the deserter followed him.

CHAPTER XI
SANGA-MOARTA

The way led them through valleys and over heights, and the greater part of their way they had to lead their horses by the bridle instead of riding. On all sides was the forest, tall, slender beeches mingled with dark green firs.

In one place they came to a fork of the roads; one way led along the valley and the other to the top of a bald, steep mountain with out-jetting cliff.

"Which way now?" said Clement. "I have never been so far."

"Take the traveled road," replied Zulfikar. "Only a fool would climb this steep height. It probably leads to some foundry."

Clement looked doubtfully around him. Suddenly he caught sight of a man seated on the rock overhanging the road. He was a young Wallachian with white face and long curling hair; his leather coat was open on his breast and his cap lay beside him on the ground. There he sat, bent over on the edge of the high cliff dangling his feet in the air, with his stony face in his hands gazing out into the distance.

"Ho there!" cried Clement, and in a mixture of Hungarian, Latin, and Wallachian asked, "Which way does this road go?"

The Wallachian did not seem to hear the cry. He remained in the same position, staring fixedly.

"He is either deaf or dead," said Zulfikar, when they had both shouted at him in vain. "We had better follow the regular road."

And they set off on a trot. The Wallachian did not even look after them. Evening was near and the way to Marisel had no end. It went from valley to valley, never once passing a human habitation. The rocks in the way and the streams crossing at different points made it almost impassable. At last in one part of the forest a column of fire rose before them and the sound of singing fell on their ears. As they came nearer they saw the fire of a pyre built up of whole tree-trunks, in a spot shaded by trees the foliage of which was scorched by the flames. Near this was a crowd of Wallachians leaping wildly with violent gestures; at the same time they beat the ground with long clubs and seemed to be treading letters into the ground, waving their arms frantically, while they howled out verses that were formulated imprecations, as if they were driving out some kind of evil spirit. A circle of young women danced round the men. The lovely creatures, with their black hair interwoven with ribbons and jewels, their flower-embroidered dresses, pleated neckerchiefs, broad-striped aprons, gold earrings, necklaces of silver coins and high-heeled red boots, formed an agreeable contrast to the wild, defiant-looking men, with their high cocked hats on the heavy shocks of hair, their sunburned necks, greasy waistcoats and broad girdles. The dance and the songs were also strange. The women circled in and out among their husbands, raising a mournful wail, while the men stamped on the ground and joined in with yells of triumph. The fire threw a red light and dark shadows over the wild group. On a tree stump beyond sat an old piper, and from a goatskin drew forth monotonous tones that mingled with the song in wild discord. When the fire was burned down to ashes the dancers suddenly separated, dragged out the figure of a woman stuffed with straw and dressed in rags, laid it on two poles and carried it to the fire crying wildly in Hungarian, "Tuesday evening,[1] Tuesday evening!" and repeated three times, "Burn to ashes, you accursed witch of Tuesday evening!" Then they threw it into the glowing coals and the women danced round with cries of joy until the effigy was entirely burned, while the men leaped about with wild shouts.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here?" called out Clement, who had until then escaped their notice.

"We live in Marisel and have burned up Tuesday evening," they answered with one voice and with earnest look as if they had accomplished something very sensible.

"Get through with it quickly and come to your village, for I am here at the command of the Prince to ask some lawful questions."

"And I," said Zulfikar, "at the command of the mighty Pasha of Nagy Varad, to impose a new tax."

The Wallachians looked after the Lieutenant in silence until he vanished from their sight, and then said with clenched fists:

"May Tuesday evening carry him off!" And then they moved off with the bagpiper at their head singing as they went to the village.

It was a small straggling Wallachian village into which the Lieutenant rode with his comrade. One house was just like another; mud huts with high roofs, projecting rafters, and enclosed within quick set hedges. The doors were so low that one must stoop to enter. Every house consisted of a single room in which the entire family lived, together with hens and goats.

At the entrance to the village was a large triumphal arch of stone, and over the main gate was the torso of a Minerva. In front were figures of a battle finely cut, and underneath an inscription in large letters in Latin: "This town the invincible Trojan had built in memory of his triumph." Behind this were miserable mud huts.

Before a house of mourning on the capital of a fallen Corinthian column sat Prefika, the oldest of the old women of the village, weeping paid tears over the corpse of the young woman on the bier within.

In front of a grass-grown hill was a grand stone building. In former times it might have been a temple erected to the memory of some Roman hero, but now the Wallachian villagers had made it their church, covering the temple with a pointed roof and spoiling the interior with dreadful paintings. For lack of any other public place the Lieutenant called the people together in this church. The setting sun through the round panes, lighted up strangely the interior of this old building with its walls covered from top to bottom with hideous pictures of saints, whom the monstrous fancies of peasant artists had clad in red cloaks and spurred boots. Among the many pictures was the well-known allegory which represents Death dragging off a king, a beggar and a priest. And scattered among the pictures of the saints were those representing devils with tongues outstretched, holding sinners by the hair of the head. Behind the altar stood the village priest and the Lieutenant.

When Clement had read aloud to the people his warrant of authority he called up the village magnate and asked him these questions:

"Are there any wizards or sorcerers among you who can call on the devil for help?"

At this question there was a timid whispering throughout the company, and after a long pause the priest answered:

"In former years, great and good lord, there was a godless reprobate in our midst who had liver spots on his neck and body; since these are sent by the devil, they did not pain him, even if they were burned with hot coals. We sent him before the Council at Weissenburg, and as he could not stand the test of water he was burned to death."

"Are there any among you who are witches, vampires, people who can harm the children of others, go through the air, turn milk red, hatch out serpents' eggs or find grasses that open locks; or, in short, know how to do anything supernatural?"

To this question there were a hundred answers at once. Everybody strove to tell the questioner his experiences. The young married women in particular crowded about the Lieutenant.

"One at a time," said the Lieutenant, authoritatively. "The judge shall tell what he knows."

"Yes, there was an old witch in the village," said the judge, slily, "we called her Dainitza. For a long time she practiced her evil among us, for her eyes were red. When she chose she could bring on a storm, so that the wind would take the roofs off. Once when she went out to get a hail storm the lightning struck the village in three places. At that the women grew furious, caught her and threw her in the pool. But even there the witch still cried out, 'Take care, you will yet ask me for the water, that you are now giving me to drink.' Then the women fished the body out of the water, where it had caught on a stone, thrust an arrow through her heart, buried her in the valley and rolled a great stone over her grave. But the witch's curse against us still held, all summer long not a drop of rain fell in our boundaries. Everything dried up and pestilence carried off our cattle. Dainitza had drunk up all the rain and all the dew. So we went to her grave, saying, 'Drink, drink your fill, cursed vampire; don't lap up all the water and dew away from us;' and at last the drought ended."

The priest testified that this was true and Clement wrote it down carefully on his parchment.

Now came the third question:

"Is there anybody among you who dares smoke tobacco; either cutting up the leaves and putting them in his pipe, or laying them on the fire and breathing the smoke that rises?"

"There is not anybody, my lord; we do not know this food."

"See to it, that no one tries to learn it; for if anybody is caught doing it, by decision of the states the pipe will be thrust through his nose and the guilty man led through the entire market place."

The fourth question was:

"Is there any one among the peasants here who wears cloth dress, marten cap, or morocco boots?"

"Why not," replied the judge, "if our poverty would permit? not that we long for dyed cloth and morocco."

"It is not allowed; the states of the country have forbidden the peasants to wear clothes fitting their masters."

Now came the fifth question:

"Who were the people who acted contrary to the decision of the states that the peasants should exterminate the sparrows, and mocked those who were appointed to collect the sparrows' heads?"

The judge advanced humbly toward the Lieutenant:

"Believe me, my great and good lord, on account of the drought the sparrows have all left the country. Say to the Prince that we have not been able to find one single one all summer long."

"That is a lie," said Clement.

"It is just as I say," persisted the judge, seizing Clement by the hand and skilfully pressing into it two silver groschen.

"It is not impossible," said the Lieutenant, appeased. "Finally, answer this question: Has any one of you seen wandering about in this region, foreign animals, beasts of prey from other countries?"

"Yes, indeed, my lord, we have seen them in great numbers."

"And what kind of animals were they?" asked Clement, in joyful curiosity.

"Why, dog-headed Tartars"—

"You fool! I am not asking for them. I wish to know whether in your wanderings through the forest you have not seen a foreign, four-footed beast of prey with striped skin."

The judge shook his head incredulously, looked at his people and answered with a shrug of his shoulders:

"We have seen no such strange animal. It may be that Sanga-moarta has seen it, for he is forever wandering through the woods and ravines in his foolish way."

"Who is this Sanga-moarta? Summon him."

"Ah, my lord, he is hard to find; he rarely comes into the village. His mother may be here."

"Here she is! Here she is," cried several peasants, and pushed forward an old woman with sunken features, whose head was wound round several times with a white cloth.

"What kind of a foolish name[2] have you given your son?" asked the Lieutenant of her. "Whoever heard of giving a human being the name dead-man's-blood?"