Maurus Jokai - The Nameless Castle

The count released his hold on the man’s arms, and looked at him in surprise.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“First, because I want to tell the Herr Count that it was not I who attempted to rob the baroness, nor were those thieves comrades of mine. I know that the people around here say it was Satan Laczi; but it was n’t, and I came to tell you so. I confess I have robbed churches; but the house which has given shelter and food to my poor little lad is more sacred to me than a church. The people insist that I was guilty of such baseness because I am Satan Laczi; but the Herr Count, who has doubtless read a description of my person, can say whether or no it was I he saw at the manor.”

With these words he turned his face toward the light. It was a very repulsive countenance.

“Do you think there is another face that the description of mine would fit, Herr Count?” he asked, a certain melancholy softening the repulsiveness of his features. “But what is the use of such senseless chatter?” he added hastily. “I am not silly enough to come here seeking honor and respect—though it does vex me when people say that one man with a cudgel put to flight Satan Laczi and three of his comrades. I came here to-night because the Herr Count rescued my poor little lad from the morass, gave him shelter and food, and even condescended to teach him. For all this I owe you, Herr Count, and I am come to return favor for favor. You are thinking: ‘How can this robber repay me what he owes?’ I will tell you: by giving you a robber’s information. I want to prove to the Herr Count that the robber—the true robber who understands his trade—can enter this securely barred castle whenever he is so minded. The locks on the doors, the bolts on the windows, are no hindrance to the man who understands his business, and the way I came in another can come as well. It is said that the Herr Count guards a great treasure here in this castle. I don’t know, and I don’t ask, what this treasure is. If I should find it, I wouldn’t take it from the Herr Count, and if any one else took it I should try to get it back for him. But some one may steal in here, as I did, while the Herr Count is looking at the stars up in the tower, and carry off his carefully guarded treasure.”

Count Vavel gave utterance to a groan of terror; his knees gave way beneath him; a chill shook his entire frame.

“Marie!” he gasped, forgetting himself.

Then, hastily snatching the candle from the table, he rushed frantically toward the young girl’s sleeping-chamber, leaving Satan Laczi alone in his room.

Since he had ceased guarding Marie’s door at night by sleeping on the lounge in her room, he had cautioned her to lock the door before retiring. Now he found the door open.

Breathless with fear, the count sprang toward the alcove and flung back the bed-curtains. The little maid was sleeping peacefully, her face resting against her arm. Her favorite cat was lying at her feet, and on the floor by the bedside lay the two pugs. But the door of the wall-cupboard in which was hidden the steel casket stood wide open, and on the casket was a singular toy—a miniature human figure turning a spinning-wheel.

For an instant Count Vavel’s heart ceased beating. Here was sufficient proof that the maid, together with the steel casket, might have been carried away during his absence.

He took the curious image, which was molded of black bread, and returned to his room.

As he crossed the threshold, Satan Laczi pointed to the toy and said:

“I left it on the casket as a remembrance in exchange for the little stockings some one in this house knit for my little lad. We learn to make such things in prison, where time hangs heavily on one’s hands.”

“But how did you manage to open the door when it was locked and the key inside?” inquired the count.

Satan Laczi showed him the tools which he used to turn keys from the outside.

“Any burglar can open a door from the outside if the key is left in the lock, Herr Count. Only those doors can be securely locked which have no keyholes outside.”

“I have no idea how that could be arranged,” said Count Vavel.

“I am acquainted with a jack of all trades here in the neighborhood who could make such a door for you if I told him how to make it. He is a carpenter, locksmith, and clock-maker, all in one person.”

The count shook his head wonderingly. The robber was to direct the locksmith how to fashion a lock that no one could open!

“Shall I send the man to the castle?” asked Satan Laczi.

“Yes; if the fellow is sensible, and does not chatter.”

“But he is a fool that never knows when to stop talking. But he talks only on one subject, so you need not be afraid to employ him. He understands everything you tell him, will do just as you say, but will not talk about what he is doing for you. There is only one subject on which he will chatter, and that is, how Napoleon might be beaten. He is continually talking about stratagems, infernal machines, and how to win a battle. On this subject he is crazy. He will make doors for the Herr Count that can’t be opened, and tell everybody else only how to make infernal machines, and how to build fortifications.”

“Very good; then send him to me.”

“But—I must say something else, Herr Count—no matter how secure your locks may be, that treasure is best guarded against robbers which is kept in the room you sleep in. A man of courage is worth a hundred locks. I am not talking without a purpose when I say the Herr Count must look after his treasure. I know more than I say, and Satan Laczi is not the greatest robber in the world. Be on your guard!”

“I thank you.”

“Does the Herr Count still believe that it was I and my comrades who broke into the manor?”

“No; I am convinced that it was not you.”

“Then my mission here is accomplished—”

“Not yet,” interposed the count, stepping to a cupboard, and taking from it a straw-covered bottle and a goblet. “Here,”—filling the goblet and handing it to the robber,—“he who comes to my house as a guest must not quit it without a parting glass.”

“A strange guest, indeed!” responded the robber, taking the proffered glass. “I came without knocking for admittance. But I performed a masterpiece to-day; the Herr Count will find it out soon enough! I do not drink to your welfare Herr Count, for my good wishes don’t go for much in heaven!”

The count seated himself at the table, and said: “Don’t go just yet, my friend; I want to give you a few words of advice. I believe you are a good man at heart. Quit your present mode of life, which will ultimately lead you—”

“Yes, I know—to the gallows and to hell,” interposed the robber.

“Take up some trade,” pursued the count. “I will gladly assist you to become an honest man. I will lend you the money necessary to begin work, and you can pay me when you have succeeded. Surely honest labor is the best.”

“I thank you for the good advice, Herr Count, but it is too late. I know very well what would be best for me; but, as I said, it is too late now. There was a time when I would gladly have labored at my trade,—for I have one,—but no one would tolerate me because of my repulsive face. From my childhood I have been an object of ridicule and abuse. My father was well-born, but he died in a political prison, and I was left destitute with this hideous face. No one would employ me for anything but swine-herd; and even then luck was against me, for if anything went wrong with a litter of pigs, I was always blamed for the mishap, and sent about my business. Count Jharose gave me a job once; it was a ridiculous task, but I was glad to get any kind of honest work. I had to exercise the count’s two tame bears—promenade with them through the village. The bears’ fore paws were tied about their necks, so that they were obliged to walk on their hind feet, and I had to walk between them, my hands resting on a fore leg of each animal, as if I were escorting two young women. When we promenaded thus along the village street, the people would laugh and shout: ‘There go Count Jharose’s three tame bears.’ At last I got out of the way of doing hard work, and got used to being ridiculed by all the world. But I had not yet learned to steal. The bears grew fat under my care. I was given every day two loaves of bread to feed to them. One day I saw, in a wretched hut at the end of the village, a poor woman and her daughter who were starving. From that day the bears began to grow thin; for I stole one of the loaves of bread and gave it to the poor women, who were glad enough to get it, I can tell you! But the steward found out my theft, and I was dismissed from the count’s service. The poor women were turned out of their miserable hut. The mother froze to death,—for it was winter then,—and the daughter was left on my hands. We got a Franciscan monk, whom we met in the forest, to marry us—which was a bad move for the girl, for no one would employ her, because she was my wife. So the forest became our home, hollow trees our shelter; and what a friend an old tree can become! Well, to make a long story short, necessity very soon taught me how to take what belonged to others. I got used to the vagrant life. I could not sleep under a roof any more. I couldn’t live among men, and pull off my hat to my betters. When the little lad came into the world, I said to my wife: ‘Do you quit the forest, and look for work in some village. Don’t let the little one grow up to become a thief.’ She did as I bade her; but the people who hired her always found out that she was the wife of Satan Laczi, and then they would not keep her, and she would have to come back to me in the forest. And that is where I shall end my days—in the forest. I am not good for anything any more; I couldn’t even plow a furrow any more. I shall end on the gallows—I feel it. I should have liked the life of a soldier, but they never would take me; they always said I would disgrace any regiment to which I might belong. Yes, I would rather have been a soldier than anything else; but what is not to be will not be! I shall keep to my forest. I am obliged to the Herr Count for his good wishes and this delicious brandy.”