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 Mare 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 'trčs 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. "Trčs 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.