They deliberated hurriedly and anxiously. What was to be done? In
his fits of blind animal rage, there was nothing of which the
Prince was not capable, and the fit could be allayed only by
finding a victim. No one, however, was willing to be a Curtius for
the others, and meanwhile the storm was increasing from minute to
minute. Some of the more active and shrewd of the household
pitched upon the leader of the band, a simple-minded, good-natured
serf, named Waska. They entreated him to take upon himself the
crime of having sung, offering to have his punishment mitigated in
every possible way. He was proof against their tears, but not
against the money which they finally offered, in order to avert the
storm. The agreement was made, although Waska both scratched his
head and shook it, as he reflected upon the probable result.
The Prince, after his work of destruction, again appeared upon
the steps, and with hoarse voice and flashing eyes, began to
announce that every soul in the castle should receive a hundred
lashes, when a noise was heard in the court, and amid cries of
"Here he is!" "We've got him, Highness!" the poor Waska, bound hand
and foot, was brought forward.
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