The Continental Classics, Volume XVIII., Mystery Tales by Various

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The Captain called a hussar from the last line that passed him, and
confided the stubborn horse to his charge. Then he bent his steps
towards the swaying crowd. The villagers opened out a way for him, and
soon the Captain stood close behind the bear-leader. But before he
could fix his eyes on Ibrahim they were taken captive by something
else.

A few steps away from Joco a young girl sat upon the ground, gently
stroking a light-colored little bear. They were both so huddled up
together that the villagers scarcely noticed them, and the Captain was
therefore all the better able to observe the young woman, who appeared
to be withdrawing herself as much as possible from public gaze. And
really she seemed to be an admirable young creature. She was slight of
build, perhaps not yet fully developed, with the early ripeness of the
Eastern beauty expressed in face and figure--a black cherry, at sight
of which the mouth of such a gourmand as the Ritter von Wallishausen
would naturally water! Her fine face seemed meant only to be the
setting of her two black eyes. She wore a shirt of coarse linen, a
frock of many-colored material, and a belt around her waist. Her
beautifully formed bosom, covered only by the shirt, rose and fell in
goddesslike shamelessness. A string of glass beads hung round her
neck, and two long earrings tapped her cheeks at every movement. She
made no effort to hide her bare feet, but now and then put back her
untidy but beautiful black hair from her forehead and eyes; for it was
so thick that if she did not do so she could not see.

The girl felt that the Captain's fiery gaze was meant for her and not
for the little bear. She became embarrassed, and instinctively turned
her head away. Just at this moment Joco turned round with Ibrahim. The
tall Servian peasant let the whistle fall from his hand, and the wild
dance came to an end. Ibrahim understood that the performance was
over, and, putting down his front paws on the ground, licked, as he
panted, the strong iron bars of his muzzle.

The Captain and Joco looked at each other. The powerful young
bear-leader was as pale as death. He trembled as if something terrible
had befallen him. Captain Winter looked at him searchingly. Where, he
asked himself, had he met this man?

The villagers did not understand what was going on, and began to
shout, "Zorka! Now, Zorka, it is your turn with Mariska." The cries of
the villagers brought Joco to himself, and with a motion worthy of a
player he roused the little bear to its feet. Then he made signs to
the girl. Being too excited to blow his whistle, he started singing
and beating the drum; but his voice trembled so much that by and by he
left off singing and let the girl go through her performance alone.

Then the Captain saw something that wrought him up to ecstasy. Zorka
was singing a sad Bosnian song in her tender, crooning voice, and
dancing with graceful steps round the little bear, who, to tell the
truth, also danced more lightly than the heavy Ibrahim, and was very
amusing when he lifted his paw to his head as Hungarians do when they
are in high spirits and break forth in hurrahs.

Captain Winter, however, saw nothing but the fair maid, whose pearly
white teeth shone out from between her red lips. He felt he would like
to slip a silk ribbon round her waist, which swayed as lightly as a
reed waving to and fro in the wind, and lead her off as if she were a
beautiful colored butterfly.

Zorka grew tired of the sad, melancholy song, and began to dance
wildly and passionately. Perhaps her natural feminine vanity was
roused within her, and she wanted to show off at her best before the
handsome soldier. Her eyes sparkled; a flush spread from time to time
over her face; with her sweet voice she animated the little bear,
crying, "Mariska, Mariska, jump!" But after a while she seemed to
forget the growling little creature altogether, and went on dancing a
kind of graceful fandango of her own invention. As she swayed, it
seemed as if the motion and excitement caused every fiber of her body
to flash out a sort of electric glow. By the time the girl flung
herself, quite exhausted, in the dust at his feet, Captain Winter was
absolutely beside himself. Such a morsel of heavenly daintiness did
not often drop in his path now that he was fasting in this purgatory
of a village. His stay there had been one long Lent, during which joys
and pleasures had been rare indeed.

It began to grow dark. At the other end of the market-place several
officers were on their way to supper at the village inn where they
always messed. The Captain turned to the man and woman in possession
of the bears and ordered them in no friendly tone to go with him to
the inn as his guests. Joco bowed humbly like a culprit, and gloomily
led on his comrade Ibrahim. Zorka, on the contrary, looked gay as she
walked along beside the light-colored bear.

The Captain looked again and again at the bear-leader walking in front
of him. "Where have I seen this fellow before?" he kept asking
himself. His uncertainty did not last long. His face brightened. "Oh,
yes; I remember!" he inwardly exclaimed. Now he felt sure that this
black cherry of Bosnia, this girl with the waist of a dragonfly, was
his.

The inn, once a gentleman's country-house, was built of stone. The
bears were lodged in a little room which used to serve the former
owner of the house as pantry, and were chained to the strong iron
lattice of the window. In one corner of this little room the landlord
ordered one of his servants to make a good bed of straw. "The Captain
will pay for it," he said.

When everything was ready in the little room, the Captain called Joco
and took him there. He knew that what he was going to do was not
chivalrous; but he had already worked himself up to a blaze of
excitement over the game he meant to play, and this fellow was too
stupid to understand what a hazardous piece of play it was. When they
were alone he stood erect before the bear-leader and looked fixedly
into his eyes.

"You are Joco Hics," he said; "two years ago you deserted from my
regiment."

The strong, tall, young peasant began to tremble so that his knees
knocked together, but could not answer a single word. Fritz Winter,
Ritter von Wallishausen, whispered into Joco's ear, his speech
agitated and stuttering: "You have a woman with you," he said, "who
surely is not your wife. Set her free. I will buy her from you for any
price you ask. You can go away with your bears and pluck yourself
another such flower where you found this one."

Joco stood motionless for a while as if turned into stone.

He did not tremble any longer: the crisis was over. He had only been
frightened as long as he was uncertain whether or not he would be
instantly hanged if he were found out.

"In all Bosnia," he answered gloomily, "there was only one such flower
and that I stole."

Before a man who was willing to share his guilt, he dared acknowledge
his crime. In truth, this man was no better than himself. He only wore
finer clothes.

The Captain became impatient. "Are you going to give her up, or not?"
he asked. "I do not want to harm you; but I could put you in prison
and in chains, and what would become of your sweetheart then?"

Joco answered proudly: "She would cry her eyes out for me; otherwise
she would not have run away from her rich father's house for my sake."

Ah! thought the Captain, if it were only that! By degrees I could win
her to me.

But it was not advisable to make a fuss, whether for the sake of his
position or because of his wife, who lived in town.

"Joco, I tell you what," said the Captain, suddenly becoming calm. "I
am going away now for a short time. I shall be gone about an hour. By
that time everybody will be in bed. The officers who sup with me, and
the innkeeper and his servants, will all be sound asleep. I give you
this time to think it over. When I come back you will either hold out
your hand to be chained or to receive a pile of gold in it. In the
meantime I shall lock you in there, because I know how very apt you
are to disappear." He went out, and turned the key twice in the lock.
Joco was left alone.

When the hour had expired Captain Winter noisily opened the door. His
eyes sparkled from the strong wine he had taken during supper, as well
as from the exquisite expectation which made his blood boil.

Joco stood smiling submissively before him. "I have thought it over,
sir," he said. "I will speak with the little Zorka about it."

Ritter Winter now forgot that he was speaking with a deserter, whom it
was his duty to arrest. He held out his hand joyfully to the Bosnian
peasant, and said encouragingly: "Go speak with her; but make haste.
Go instantly."

They crept together to the pantry where the girl slept near the
chained bears. Joco opened the door without making a sound, and
slipped in. It seemed to the Captain that he heard whispering inside.
These few moments seemed an eternity to him. At last the bear-leader
reappeared and, nodding to the Captain, said: "Sir, you are expected."

Captain Winter had undoubtedly taken too much wine. He staggered as he
entered the pantry, the door of which the bear-leader shut and locked
directly he had entered. He then listened with such an expression on
his face as belongs only to a born bandit. Almost immediately a
growling was heard, and directly afterwards some terrible swearing and
a fall. The growling grew stronger and stronger. At last it ended in a
wild roar. A desperate cry disturbed the stillness of the night:
"Help! help!"

In the yard and round about it the dogs woke up, and with terrible
yelping ran towards the pantry, where the roaring of the bear grew
ever wilder and more powerful. The rattling of the chain and the cries
of the girl mingled with Ibrahim's growling. The neighbors began to
wake up. Human voices, confused questionings, were heard. The
inn-keeper and his servants appeared on the scene in their night
clothes, but, hearing the terrible roaring, fled again into security.
The Captain's cries for help became weaker and weaker. And now Joco
took his iron stake, which he always kept by him, opened the door, and
at one bound was at the side of the wild beast. His voice sounded
again like thunder, and the iron stick fell with a thud on the bear's
back. Ibrahim had smelt blood. Beneath his paws a man's mangled body
was writhing. The beast could hardly be made to let go his prey. In
the light that came through the small window, Joco soon found the
chain from which not long before he had freed Ibrahim, and with a
swift turn he put the muzzle over the beast's jaws. It was done in a
twinkling. During this time Zorka had been running up and down the
empty yard, crying in vain for help. Nobody had dared come near.

The following day Captain Fritz Winter, Ritter von Wallishausen, was
lying between burning wax candles upon his bier. Nobody could be made
responsible for the terrible accident. Why did he go to the bears when
he was not sober?

But that very day the siren of Bosnia danced her wild dance again in
the next village, and with her sweet, melodious voice urged the
light-colored little bear: "Mariska, jump, jump!"

ARTHUR ELCK

_THE TOWER ROOM_

There were many wonderful things that aroused our childish fantasy,
when Balint Orzo and I were boys, but none so much as the old tower
that stands a few feet from the castle, shadowy and mysterious. It is
an old, curious, square tower, and at the brink of its notched edge
there is a shingled helmet which was erected by one of the late Orzos.

There is many and many a legend told about this old tower. A rumor
exists that it has a secret chamber into which none is permitted to
enter, except the head of the family. Some great secret is concealed
in the tower-room, and when the first-born son of the Orzo family
becomes of age his father takes him there and reveals it. And the
effect of the revelation is such that every young man who enters that
room comes out with gray hair.

As to what the secret might be, there was much conjecturing. One
legend had it that once some Orzo imprisoned his enemies in the tower
and starved them until the unfortunates ate each other in their crazed
suffering.

According to another story Kelemen Orzo ordered his faithless wife
Krisztina Olaszi to be plastered into the wall of the room. Every
night since, sobbing is heard from the tower.

Another runs that every hundred years a child with a dog's face is
born in the Orzo family and that this little monster has to perish in
the tower-room, so as to hide the disgrace of the family.

Another conjecture was that once the notorious Menyhart Orzo, who was
supreme under King Rudolph in the castle, played a game of checkers
with his neighbor, Boldizsar Zomolnoky. They commenced to play on a
Monday and continued the game and drank all week until Sunday morning
dawned upon them. Then Menyhart Orzo's confessor came and pleaded with
the gamblers. He begged them to stop the game on the holy day of
Sunday, when all true Christians are in church praising the Lord. But
Menyhart, bringing his fist down on the table in such rage that all
the wine glasses and bottles danced, cried: "And if we have to sit
here till the world comes to an end, we won't stop till we have
finished this game!"

Scarcely had he uttered his vow when, somewhere from the earth, or
from the wall, a thundering voice was heard promising to take him at
his word--that they would continue playing till the end of the world.
And ever since, the checkers are heard rattling, and the two damned
souls are still playing the game in the tower-room.

When we were boys, the secret did not give us any rest, and we were
always discussing and plotting as to how we could discover it. We made
at least a hundred various plans, but all failed. It was an
impossibility to get into the tower, because of a heavy iron-barred
oaken door. The windows were too high to be reached. We had to satisfy
ourselves with throwing a well-aimed stone, which hit the room through
the window. Such an achievement was somewhat of a success, for
oftentimes we drove out an alarmed flock of birds.

One day I decided that the best way would be to find out the secret of
the tower from Balint's father himself. "He is the head of the
family," I thought, "and if any light is to be had on the mystery, it
is through him." But Balint didn't like the idea of approaching the
old man; he knew his father's temper.

However, once he ventured the question, but he was sorry for it
afterwards, for the older Orzo flew into a passion, and scolded and
raged, ending by telling him that he must not listen to such
nursery-tales; that the tower was moldering and decaying with age;
that the floor timbers and staircase were so infirm that it would fall
to pieces should anyone approach it; and that this was why no one
could gain admittance.

For a long time afterwards neither of us spoke of it.

But curiosity was incessantly working within us, and one evening
Balint solemnly vowed to me that as soon as he became of age and had
looked into the room, he would call for me, should I be even at the
end of the world, and would let me into the secret. In order to make
it more solemn, we called this a "blood-contract."

With this vow we parted. My parents sent me to college; Balint had a
private tutor and was kept at home in the castle. After that we only
met at vacation time.

Eight years passed before I saw the Orzo home again. At Balint's
urgent, sudden invitation I had hurriedly journeyed back to my rocky
fatherland.

I had scarcely stepped on the wide stone stairway leading from the
terrace in the front of the castle, when someone shouted that the
honorable master was near! He came galloping in on a foaming horse. I
looked at him and started, as if I had seen a ghost, for this thin,
tall rider was the perfect resemblance of his father. The same knotty
hair and bearded head, the same densely furrowed face, the same deep,
calm, gray eyes. And his hair and beard were almost as white as his
father's!

He came galloping through the gate, pulled the bridle with a sudden
jerk, and the next moment was on the paving; then with one bound he
reached the terrace, and had me in his strong arms. With wild
eagerness he showed me into the castle and at the same time kept
talking and questioning me without ceasing. Then he thrust me into my
room and declared that he gave me fifteen minutes--no more--to dress.

The time had not even expired, when he came, like a whirlwind,
embraced me again and carried me into the dining-room. There
chandeliers and lamps were already lit; the table was elaborately
decorated, and bore plenty of wine.

At the meal he spoke again. Nervously jerking out his words, he was
continually questioning me on one subject and then another, without
waiting for the answer. He laughed often and harshly. When we came to
the drinking, he winked to the servants, and immediately five Czigany
musicians entered the room. Balint noticed the astonishment on my
face, and half evasively said:

"I have sent to Iglo for them in honor of you. Let the music sound,
and the wine flow; who knows when we will see each other again?"

He put his face into his palm. The Cziganys played old Magyar songs.
Balint glanced at me now and then, and filled the glasses; we clinked
them together, but he always seemed to be worried.

It was dawning. The soft sound of a church bell rose to us. Balint put
his hand on my shoulder and bent to my ear.

"Do you know how my father died?" he asked in a husky voice. "He
killed himself."

I looked at him with amazement; I wanted to speak, but he shook his
head, and grasped my hand.

"Do you remember my father?" he asked me. Of course; while I looked at
him it seemed as if his father were standing before me. The very
fibrous, skinny figure, the muscles and flesh seeming peeled off. Even
through his coat arm I felt the naked, unveiled nerves.

"I always admired and honored my father, but we were never true
intimates; I knew that he loved me, but I felt as if it was not for my
own sake; as if he loved something in my soul that was strange to me.
I never saw him smile; sometimes he was so harsh that I was afraid of
him; at another time he was unmanageable."

"I did not understand him, but the older I became the better did I
feel that there was a sad secret germinating in the bottom of his
soul, where it grew like a spreading tree, the branches of which crept
up to the castle and covered the walls, little by little overshadowed
the sunlight, absorbed the air, and darkened everyone's heart. I
gritted my teeth in vain; I could not work; I could not start to
accomplish anything. I struggled with hundreds and hundreds of
determinations; to-day I prepared for this or that; to-morrow for
something else; ambition pressed me within; I could not make up my
mind. Behind every resolution I made, I noticed my father's
countenance, like a note of interrogation. The old fables that we
heard together in our childhood were renewed in my memory. Little by
little the thought grew within me, like a fixed delusion, that my
father's fatal secret was locked up in the tower room. After that I
lived by the calendar and dwelt on the passing of time on the clock.
And when the sun that shone on me when I was born arose the
twenty-fourth time, I pressed my hand on my heart and entered my
father's room--this very room.

"'Father,' I said, 'I became of age to-day, everything may be opened
before me, and I am at liberty to know everything.' Father looked at
me and pondered over this.

"'Oh, yes!' he whispered, 'this is the day.'

"'I may know everything now,' continued I; 'I am not afraid of any
secrets. In the name of our family tradition, I beg of you, please
open the tower-room.'

"Father raised his hand, as if he wanted to make me become silent. His
face was as white as a ghost.

"'Very well,' he murmured, 'I will open the tower-room for you.'

"And then he pulled off his coat, tore his shirt on his breast, and
pointed to his heart.

"'Here is the tower-room, my boy!' did he whisper in a husky voice.
'Here is the tower-room, and within our family secret. Do you see it?'

"That is all he said, but when I looked at him I immediately perceived
the secret; everything was clear before me and I had a presentiment
that something was nearing its end, something about to break.

"Father walked up and down; and then he stopped and pointed to this
picture; to this very picture.

"'Did you ever thoroughly look at your ancestors? They are all from
the Orzos. If you scrutinize their faces you will recognize in them
your father, yourself, and your grandfather; and if you ever read
their documents, which were left to us--there they are in the
box--then you will know that they are just the same material as we
are. Their way of thinking was the same as ours and so were their
desires, their wills, their lives, and deaths. We had among them
soldiers, clergymen, scientists, but not even one great, celebrated
man, although their talent, their strength almost tore them asunder.

"'In every one of them the family curse took root: not one of them
could be a great man, neither my father nor yours.'

"Then I felt as if something horrible was coming from his lips. My
breath almost ceased. Father did not finish what he was going to say,
but stopped and listened for a minute.

"'I was my father's only hope,' he went on after a while; 'I too was
born talented and prepared for great things, but the Orzos' destiny
overtook me, and you see now what became of me. I looked into the
tower-room. You know what it contains? You know what the name of our
secret is? He who saw this secret lost faith in himself. For him it
would have been better not to have come into this world at all. But I
loved to live and did not want to abandon all my hopes. I married your
mother; she consoled me until you were born, and then I regained my
delight in life. I knew what I had to keep before my eyes to bring up
my son to be such a man as his father could not be.

"'I acquiesced when you left for the foreign countries; then your
letters came. I made a special study of every sentence and of every
word of it, for I did not want to trust my reason. I thought the first
time that the fault was in me; that I saw unnecessary phantoms. But it
wasn't so, for what I read out of your words was our destiny, the
curse of the Orzos; from the way of your thinking, I found out that
everything is in vain; you too turned your head backward, you too
looked into yourself and noticed there the thing that makes the
perceiver sterile forever. You did not even notice what you have done;
you could not grasp it with your reason, but the poison is already
within you.'

"'It cannot be, father!' I broke out, terrified.

"But he sadly shook his head. 'I am old; I cannot believe in anything
now. I wish you were right, and would never come to know what I know.
God bless you, my son; it is getting late, and I am getting tired.'

"It struck me that he was trying to cover his disbelief with sarcasm.
Both of us were without sleep that night. At dawn there was silence in
his room. I bitterly thought, 'When will I go to rest?' When I went
into his room in the morning he was lying in his bed. All was over. He
had taken poison, and written his farewell on a piece of paper. His
last wish was that no one should ever know under what circumstances he
died."

Balint left off speaking and gazed with outstretched eyes toward the
window in the darkness. I slowly went to him and put my hand upon his
shoulder. He started at my touch.

"I more than once thought of the woman who could be the mother of my
son. How many times have I been tempted to fulfill my father's last
wish! But at such a time it has always come to my mind that I too
might have such a son, who would cast into his father's teeth that he
was a coward and a selfish man; that he sacrificed a life for his
illusive hopes.

"No! I won't do it. I won't do it. I am the last of the Orzos. With me
this damned family will die out. My fathers were cowards and rascals.
I do not want anybody to curse my memory."

I kissed Balint's wet forehead; I knew that this was the last time I
would see him. The next day I left the castle, and the day after, his
death was made public. He committed suicide, like his father. He was
the last Orzo, and I turned about the coat of arms above his head.

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