Peter the Priest. Mór Jókai

and if Thou wilt not permit me to be happy on earth, to be blessed in Heaven with him, then will I be damned in Hell with him. Father, I will sin!"

      The woman rocked on her knees in the dust before the man, kissing his feet, and with her hand beating her unrepentant breast.

      A deep sigh was wrung from the heart of Father Peter. He turned his face away, and laying a trembling hand on the woman's head, sobbed with stifled voice, "May God pity you your sins, poor wretched woman!" And then he let her lie sobbing on the ground, and let her drag herself along the marble floor, following his footsteps and kissing them, one after the other.

CHAPTER IV.

       Table of Contents

YAW DEREVOCSID EHT.

       Table of Contents

      That good-sized book that Father Peter had brought to the Castle with him was no book of magic to exorcise devils, but rather a book that had had some man-tormenting devil for composer: it had moulded already for two centuries in the Madocsany Monastery library before the Jesuit order was founded by Ignatius Loyola; at that time the Carmelite fathers were in the abbey; the contents of this book must have caused them, too, many a headache, for they wrote many pages of Latin commentaries to explain this text of a few leaves which nobody understood yet. This much had the investigators already worked out; that the characters were the same that the Arabs employed in their secret correspondence, and the alphabet was that known among Orientalists as "Lijakah." On the other hand, the words which the letters formed were not to be found in any speech of any known people on the whole globe. One linguist insisted that he recognized the Arabic, another the Coptic, and a third the Mongolian in some one of its forms. The words that most frequently appeared were explained by all kinds of philological cunning. The title of the book was Yaw Derevocsid Eht. One word sounded like Arabic, and another was evidently of Turkish origin; but what the whole meant no human understanding could decide. Whole sheets were written over, with desperate and useless effort. It seemed as if everybody must go mad who attempted its investigation. The Jesuits later adopted the custom, whenever a monk ventured to demur against a task assigned, of putting into his hand this book, Yaw Derevocsid Eht, and telling him that he might spend his time in quiet linguistic studies, that he might acquire the language in which these few pages were written, and when he had accomplished this, he might go as a missionary to the people who wrote and spoke this language. But this secret had never yet been penetrated throughout all the years in which it had vexed and tormented students. And so to Father Peter, this book had been given for a companion; in case he wished to escape from the hard service in the castle, this book would be welcome in gaining his exit through the closed door, and for that reason, Father Peter spent whole nights over the thick book, and studied in succession the writings of those who had gone astray before him.

      The little son of the mistress of the castle slept with the monk in one room, but beside the monk, the child must have the Fool too; for he could not go to sleep unless the Fool told him fairy stories, and the Fool well knew how. Often he sat until midnight by the boy's bedside, weaving garlands of the Thousand and One Nights; this gave the monk a chance to study the secrets of the Arabic writing. The young Lord had very bad dreams. He dreamed of the fairies and witches in the fairy tales, and would waken screaming. Often he dreamed with wide open eyes, tried to escape, howled and wept, so that the monk and the Fool had all they could do to quiet him and lull him back to sleep again. And this was continued until early morning, when the boy fell into a deep sleep, and the monk and the Fool could give themselves to rest.

      The monk found his Arabic book of sufficient service in these night watches, but for the Fool wine was furnished as a means of keeping awake. And so they sat through the still nights beside each other at a table; in front of the monk lay the open book and the large inkstand of lead, and before the Fool stood a large pitcher and a tin mug.

      "What would a man say, Monk," said the Fool once, "if he should see us together this way every night? Which would he call the Fool and which the wise man?"

      "He would call you wise, and me a fool."

      "If you would like, I could share my wisdom with you, for my pitcher is full; there is wine in it."

      "I do not drink wine."

      "What have you there in front of you?"

      "Ink."

      "And I do not drink ink, but I'll taste your drink; give me some."

      "Ink is not to drink."

      "What is it for?"

      "You see. Men dip quills in it, and write letters with it, and what is in the letters causes greater delight to the human soul than your wine to the human throat."

      "Give me a swallow of it that I may learn its taste."

      "Nobody can give of this drink."

      "Is it frozen?"

      "Yes, just that. It is written in a foreign language that I do not myself understand."

      "You do not understand! and you follow with your finger along the line of those bird-tracks! Then this magic book is of no more value to you than to me. I might just as well sit in your place, and follow with my finger."

      "You are quite right, Fool."

      "Now I'll tell you a thing, and you can make two of it. If I can swallow a little of your drink which you cannot pour out for your own self, then will you taste mine which I do not begrudge you?"

      "I can easily agree to that."

      "Now then, wait a little. Before you came I had a student for companion in these night-watches, who used to work there busily, just where you sit. He was to have taught the young Lord to read and write, but every day he got hit in the head with the inkstand. I watched this foolish student carefully from the other end of the table, and saw that when he took his goosequill in his hand, and began to make all kinds of flourishes that he always worked from left to right, but as I observe your finger you go from right to left, and in that way get everything wrong end to. Now listen, and I will recite you a sweet song: