Nine Tales for Children

Karel Čapek

plus one additional tale by Josef Čapek

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The Second Robbers' Tale

 

            All this took place a very long time ago, so long ago that not even old Zelinka, may he rest in peace and God give him eternal honour, could remember it, and he could even remember my fat great grandad.  It was in the distant and fathomless past that the Brenda Hills were the domain of Lotrando, the famous and evil robber, cruelest of all murderers, and his twenty one henchmen, fifty grand thieves, thirty petty thieves and two hundred assistants smugglers and dealers in stolen goods.  This Lotrando would lay in wait by the road until a government official or a merchant or a Jew or a knight on horseback came by; then he would shout 'stand and deliver' and take everything from the traveller that he had; and the traveller could be grateful if Lotrando did not skewer him on his sword or shoot him or hang him from the nearest tree.  That's the sort of killer and danger to the public that Lotrando was.

            One day, one such merchant was on the road, calling 'ho there' and 'giddy up' to his horses and looking forward to selling his wares in town.  He felt a little frightened when he went through the woods because of the robbers, but he whistled and he sang a happy song so that no-one would notice.  All of a sudden, someone stepped out of the woods who was as big as a mountain, as wide as any man you've ever seen but two heads taller and with a beard so thick that you can see nothing of his mouth; just think if someone like this stepped out in from of your horse and shouts 'Your money or your life' pointing a pair of enormous pistols at you.  When this happened to the merchant, well of course, he gave him his money, and Lotrando even took his waggon, all the goods carried in it, the merchant's horses, his coat, his trousers, his boots, and even gave him a couple of strokes of the whip so that the poor man would get home sooner.  Like I said, this Lotrando was someone good for nothing but the gallows. 

            But there were no other robbers for miles around (not until Mareš came along, and he was nothing compared with Lotrando), and so Lotrando was a very successful robber, so successful that he soon became richer than any knight in armour or any factory owner.  Lotrando had a little son, and the old thief said to himself; Maybe I should give the boy an education, it'll cost me a few thousand, but I can afford that; he can learn to speak French and German, he can learn to say 'Bitte schön'  and 'je vous aime' like a gentleman, learn to play the piano and perform dances like the schottische or the quadrille, to eat from a plate and blow his nose in a handkerchief, just like a gentleman should do.  And although I'm just a robber, my son can be more like a duke.  So, now I've made my mind up and that's that. 

            And having made his mind up, he took little Lotrando up onto his horse with him and hurried down to the city of Broumov, to the Benedictine abbey where he roughly pulled on the bell cord and went straight in to see the abbot.  "Your Grace," he said to him, "I'm leaving this lad here with you for you to educate him, to teach him to eat and blow his nose and dance and to say 'bitte schön' and 'je vous aime' and everything that a proper cavalier ought to know; and here," he said, "here is a sackful of ducats, florins, piastres, rupees, doubloons, rubles, talers, napoleons d'or, guineas, pieces of silver, pieces of Hollandish gold, pistoles and sovereigns so that while he's with you he can live like a little prince." 

            And having said that, he turned on his heel and was off back into the woods, leaving little Lotrando to be cared for by the Benedictine fathers.

 

            So it was that little Lotrando went to school with lots of princes and counts and other young rich people and the priests who taught them;  fat Father Spiridion taught him to say 'bitte schön' in German, and Father Dominic knocked 'très charmé' and 's'il vous plait' and lots of other French words into his head, and Father Amadeus taught him all the compliments, minuets and manners he would need, and Mister Kraupner taught him how to blow his nose so it would sound as thin as a flute or as smooth as a clarinet and not trumpet like a contrabassoon, trombone, horn at Jericho or motor-car, which was how Lotrando his father blew his nose; in short, they taught him, in the gentlest way possible, all the delicacies of a proper gentleman.  Little Lotrando was dressed in black velvet with a lace collar and seemed a quite charming little boy, soon forgot that he had been born in a robbers' cave in the wild brenda mountains and that his father, Lotrando the old thief and murderer, went about in bulls' hides and stank of horses and ate raw meat with his bare hands, like robbers do.

            In short, little Lotrando's knowledge and cultivation blossomed.  One day, just when his studies were at their best the ground in front of the seminary was shaken with horse's hooves and an unkempt ruffian jumped down from his horse and hammered on the door.  When the priest at the entrance let him in he told him in a surly voice that he had come for little Lotrando, that his father, old Lotrando, was dying and had summoned his only son to take over the business.  So little Lotrando, with tears in his eyes, took his leave of the venerable Benedictine fathers and all the other pupils and students and was led by a thug up into the Brenda hills, wondering all the time what sort of business it was that his father was going to pass on to him and promising to himself that he would carry it on with nobility, with courtesy to all people and in a way that was pleasing to God. 

            So he arrived in the Brenda Hills, and the thug led the young gentlemen to his father's deathbed.  Old Lotrando was lying in an enormous cave on a pile of raw cowhides and covered with a horse's skin. 

            "Well then Vincek, where've you been all this time?" he said as he struggled for breath.  "Have you brought my lad to me?"

            "Father, my dear father," declared young Lotrando as he knelt down beside him, "may the Lord God see fit to keep you for many years yet to bring joy to those nearest to you and and unutterable pride to your son."

            "Hold on, son, hold on," said the old villain.  "I'm going down to Hell today and I don't have much time for your sweet-talking.  I had hoped I could leave you a good inheritance, enough for you to live on without having to work. But damn it, lad, these have been awful years for anyone in our trade."

            "Oh, father," sighed little Lotrando, "I had no idea you were having to do without."

            "Well," grumbled the old man, "I've got gout, see, and it's a long time since I could go very far from here.  And the merchants and anyone with any sense never use the roads nearby, for some reason.  It's high time my job was taken over by somebody younger."

            "Dearest father," said the young gentleman with much passion, "I swear to you, by everything in the world, that I will take on your profession, and perform it honestly, willingly and with respect and courtesy to all men."

            "I don't know about respect and courtesy," the old man growled.  "I suppose I never used to kill people if they didn't try to defend themselves, but I never used to bow down to anyone, son; just doesn't seem a proper part of this sort of job, see?"

            "And what, dear father, is your sort of job?"

            "I'm a robber," said old Lotrando, and expired. 

            So it was that little Lotrando was left alone in the world, his soul crushed partly by the death of his dear Papa, and partly by the oath that bound him to become a robber.

            Three days later, Lotrando was approached by that scruffy thug, Vincek.  He told him there was nothing to eat, and that they'd soon have to get down to some proper work.

            "My dear henchman," said the young Lotrando with regret, "must such a thing really be?"

            "Course it must," answered Vincek roughly.  "We ain't got no fairy godfather bringin us roast pigeons from the sky.  If you wanna eat you've gotta work for it."

            So young Lotrando took his beatiful pistols, jumped onto his horse and went down to the highway.  There he settled himself into his hide and waited for a merchant to pass buy so that he could rob him.

            After about an hour a cloth merchant did come along the road.  Young Lotrando stepped out from his hiding place and bowed deeply to the merchant.  The cloth merchant was surprised to see a fine young man greeting him on the road, and he also bowed deeply and said, "Your health, young sir".

            Lotrando came closer and bowed again.  "Do excuse me," he said sweetly, "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

            "Not at all," the cloth merchant replied, "how can I be of service to you?"

            "In a way that's very simple and easy," Lotrando went on, "as long as you don't become too alarmed.  You see, I am a robber, the dreaded Lotrando of the Brenda Hills."

            The cloth merchant was a clever man, and he wasn't alarmed at all.  "Well, my young friend," he said cheerfully, "as it happens I'm a robber too.  The Bloody Blade of Kostelec, they call me.  I'm sure you will have heard that name."

            "It is an honour that has not been granted me," Lotrando apologised, slightly confused, "you see, my friend, this is the first time I've done this.  I've just taken over the family business from my father."

            "I see," said Bloody Blade the Merchant.  "That must be old Lotrando of the Brenda Hills.  A very respected firm of robbers, one that is old, reliable and of high renown.  You are to be congratulated, Mr. Lotrando.  But do you know what?  I was a close friend of your late father's.  We used to meet on this very spot, and he would say, 'You know what, Bloody Blade, we're friends and neighbours, you and I, how about if we divide things up; you can have the highway from Kostelec to Trutnov and no-one can rob the travellers on it except you'.  That's what he said, and we shook hands on it."

            "Oh a thousand apologies, sir," said the polite young Lotrando.  "I had indeed no idea that this is your domain.  I am very sorry to have set foot on it."

            "Well it doesn't matter, just this once," the crafty Bloody Blade told him.  "But there was something else your father said to me: 'If I or any member of my gang as much as sets foot in your domain, Blade, you can take his pistols and his hat and his coat so that he doesn't forget that this is your stretch of highway.'  That's what he said, the old schemer, and he gave me his hand on it."

            "Then if that is the case," young Lotrando replied, "I must humbly ask you to accept these magnificent pistols, my hat with its real ostrich feathers and my coat of English velvet to remind me and as a sign both of my deepest respect for you and my regret that I have caused you such inconvenience."

            "That's alright, then," the Bloody Blade agreed.  "Hand them over and I'll forgive you.  But I hope I don't see you here again, young man.  Giddy up, horses.  Goodbye, Mr. Lotrando."

            "God be with you, noble and generous sir," young Lotrando called out after him, and he went back into the hills not only without his booty but even without the coat on his back.  Vincek, the grim thug, soundly told him off for this, and gave him a lesson in banditry so that the next day he would kill and rob the first person he met. 

            So the following day, young Lotrando with his narrow sword was out lying in wait beside the road.  It was not long before a government official came by with an enormous load of goods. 

            Young Lotrando stepped out and called, "I'm very sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you.  Would you be so kind as to quickly prepare yourself and say your prayers."

            The official fell to his knees and prayed and thought about how he was going to get out of this mess.  He said the 'Our Father', and then he said it again, and still he had not thought of anything clever.  He still had not thought of anything when he was on his ninth and tenth 'Our Fathers'. 

            "Now, sir," young Lotrando asked, trying to sound stern, "are you ready to face death yet?" 

            "Of course I'm not ready," the official replied through his chattering teeth.  "I've always been a terrible sinner, I haven't been to church for thirty years, I've cursed like a heathen and I've blasphemed and I've gambled and I've committed sins everywhere I've gone.  But if I could get to the police and make my confession to them maybe God would forgive me my sins and wouldn't throw my sould down into Hell.  Tell you what!  I'll just nip down to the police station, make my confession, come back here, and then you can kill me."

            "Alright then," Lotrando agreed.  "I'll wait for you here by your waggon."

            "You do that," said the official, "and do you think you could lend me your horse so that I can get back a bit quicker."

            The polite young highwayman agreed even to this, and so the official sat up on Lotrando's horse and rode down to the police station while Lotrando let the official's horses out of their harnesses and let them graze on the meadow. 

            But this government official cheated Lotrando and didn't go to the police station to make his confession.  Instead he went to the nearest inn where he told everyone about the robber waiting for him up on the highway; and while he was still there he had a few drinks to give him courage and then set out with three tough labourers to find Lotrando.  The four men beat poor Lotrando cruelly and drove him back into the hills where the polite highwayman had to go back to his cave not only without any booty but even without his own horse. 

            Lotrando went out a third time to wait by the highway and see what plunder his luck might bring him.  A canvas-covered waggon came by, driven by a market trader on his way to the fair where he meant to sell his load of gingerbread hearts.  Once again, young Lotrando took up his place on the road and proclaimed, "Give yourself up now, for I am a highwayman", which is what the loutish Vincek had taught him to say.

            The market trader stopped and scratched his head, then he lifted a flap of canvas and shouted into his waggon, "Mother, I think we've got a highwayman". 

            At this the canvas cover was thrown open and a fat old woman climbed down from the waggon, put her hands on her hips and set on the young Lotrando: You antichrist, you animal, you assassin, you blasphemer, you Barabbas, you bandit, how dare you ambush decent and honest people like this?

            "Oh, do forgive me madam," answered Lotrando quiety, crushed by the woman's onslaught, "I had no idea there was a lady in the waggon."

            "Well there is," she continued, "and that's me you you brigand, you blaggard, you Cain, you coward, you churl, you cheat, you charlatan, you chancer, you cutthroat, you double-dealer, you devil, you demon, !"

            "Oh please, a thousand apologies, I do seem to have startled you, madam," Lotrando tried to excuse himself, all the time terribly unsure what to do.  "Très charmé, madame, s'il vous plait, I assure you I am humbly sorry for ... for ... "

            "Clear off, you brute," yelled the lady as she gathered strength, "or I'll show you just what you are you,  you good for nothing, you God forsaken, you gallows fodder, you gutter snipe, you horror, you heathen, you highwayman, you jailbird, you Judas, you killer, you lout , you looter, you layabout, you monster , you murderer, you miscreant,  you malefactor, you malevolent ..."

            Young Lotrando heard no more, for he was already running as fast as he could and didn't stop until he was back in the hills; and even there he thought he could hear sounds such as, "you ne'er do well, you ogre, you pagan, you pistoleer, you rioter, you reprobate, you recidivist, you sadist, you schemer, you Satan, you thug, you thief, you violator ..." coming to him on the wind.

            And that was just how it carried on for young Lotrando.  He tried to rob a golden carriage, but there was a princess sitting in it who was so charming that Lotrando fell in love with her and all he took was a scarf that carried her fragrance.  This, of course, did nothing to make his gang less hungry.  Another time he was going to kill a butcher who was taking a cow to be slaughtered; but the butcher begged him to look after the twelve orphans he would leave, and he seemed so tender, no noble, so moving, that Lotrando burst into tears and let the butcher go not only with the cow but even made him accept twelve ducats so that he could give one to each of his children in memory of the terrible Lotrando; and that was even though the butcher was a rogue and a waster who didn't even have a cat, let alone twelve children.  In short, every time Lotrando tried to rob or murder anyone something happened to stop him, something that brought out his manners and tenderness, so that no only did he never take anything from them but he even gave away everything he already had. 

           

            He couldn't make a living like this, of course; the thugs in his gang, including the loutish Vincek, went away and even prefered to do honest work among ordinary people and Vincek took on an apprenticeship in a mill which still stands just below the church in the town of Hronov.  Young Lotrando was left all by himself in the robbers' cave in the Brenda Hills, hungry and not knowing what to do.  Then he thought of the Benedictine prior in Broumov who had been very fond of him, so off he went to ask his advice. 

            Once he was there he kneeled and wept and told him about the vow he had made to his father about becoming a robber and how he had been brought up to be polite and loving and that he was just not capable of murder or robbery. What, Father Prior, was he to do? 

            The prior took a pinch of snuff, and then he took another, and another, and he thought a very long time and then he said, "My dear son, it is very good that you are polite and helpful to people, but you cannot continue to be a thief.  For one thing theft is a mortal sin, and for another it is something you are not capable of.  But if you are to keep the vow you gave to your father you will have to keep on ambushing people.  You will do it, however, in a way which is honest.  You will take up your position at the roadside, and when a traveller passes by you will stop them and ask for the toll.  And that will settle the matter.  While earning you living in this way you will be able to be polite, just as you wish and just as is your nature."

            Then the prior wrote a letter to the regional governor asking him to grant young Lotrando the right to collect the toll on the roads, and with this letter in his pocket Lotrando set off for the local capital where the governor did indeed grant him this right on the road by Zálesí.  In this way, the polite highwayman became the tollman for the highway where he stopped all the carriages and waggons so that, with all courtesy, he could collect the toll for using it. 

            Many years later, this prior was on his way to a neighbouring town to visit the parish priest there.  He was looking forward to meeting the polite Lotrando and learn how he was when he collected the toll, and when he arrived at the place he was approached by a man with a big beard - this was Lotrando himself - who grunted something and reached out his hand.

            The prior reached into his pocket, but he had become rather fat by this time and had to use one hand to lift up his belly while with the other he reached down into his trousers; and so it took a little time before he could get the money. 

            At this, Lotrando said roughly, "Come on then!  How long am I supposed to stand here before you can get a couple of coins out your pocket?" 

            The prior looked at his money and said, "I seem to be a penny short, do you think you could let me off just one penny?"

            "You can go to Hell," Lotrando shouted at him.  "If you haven't got the money what the Hell are you doing on the road?  You can give me the proper price or you can go back the way you came!"

            "Lotrando, Lotrando," said the prior, sorely disappointed.  "Don't you know me?  Whatever has happened?  You used always to be so polite?"

            Lotrando was taken aback, as it was only now that he realised that this was the prior.  He even grumbled something unpleasant, but he regained control of himself  and said, "Father Prior, please don't be surprised that I'm not polite any more.  Have you ever seen any toll collector on any road or bridge or anywhere else who wasn't at least a little bad tempered?"

            "You are right," said the prior, "that is something that no-one has ever seen anywhere."

            "There you are then," grumbled Lotrando, "so now you can go to Hell."

            And that's the end of the story about the polite highwayman; I expect he's dead by now, but there are many many places where you can meet people like him.  You can tell them because they will always want to insult you, even though they have no reason at all to do so.  And that's not right, is it.