MY RIGHT HONORABLE UNCLE
We were invited to dine with the Privy Councillor Balnokhazy, at whose
house my brother was to take up his residence.
He was some very distant relation of ours; however, he received a
payment for Lorand's board, seven hundred florins, a nice sum of money
in those days.
My pride was the greatest that my brother was living in a privy
councillor's house, and, if my school-fellows asked me where I lived, I
never omitted to mention the fact that "my brother was living with
Balnokhazy, P. C.," while I myself had taken up my abode merely with a
baker.
Baker Fromm was indeed very sorry that we were not dining "at home." At
least they might have left me alone there. That he did not turn to stone
as he uttered these words was not my fault; at least I fixed upon him
such basilisk eyes as I was capable of. What an idea! To refuse a dinner
with my P. C. uncle for his sake! Grandmother, too, discovered that I
also must be presented there.
We ordered a carriage for 1:30; of course we could not with decency go
to the P. C.'s on foot. Grandmother fastened my embroidered shirt under
my waistcoat, and I was vain enough to allow the little pugnose to
arrange my tie. She really could make pretty bows, I thought. As I gazed
at myself in the looking-glass, I found that I should be a handsome boy
when I had put on my silver-buttoned attila.[19] And if only my hair
was curled! Still I was completely convinced that in the whole town
there did not exist any more such silver-buttoned attilas as mine.
[Footnote 19: The coat worn by the hussars, forming part, as it does, of
all real Magyar _levee_ dresses.]
Only it annoyed me to watch the little pugnose careering playfully round
me. How she danced round me, without any attempt to conceal the fact
that I took her fancy; and how that hurt my pride!
At the bottom of the stairs the comical Henrik was waiting for me, with
a large brush in his hand. He assured me that my attila had become
floury--surely from Fanny's apron, for that was always floury--and that
he must brush it off. I only begged him not to touch my collar with the
hair brush; for that a silk brush was required, as it was velvet.
I believe I set some store by the fact that the collar of my attila was
velvet.
From the arched doorway old Marton, too, called after me, as we took our
seats, "Good appetite, Master Sheriff!" and five or six times moved his
cap up and down on the top of his head.
How I should have loved to break his nose! Why is he compromising me
here before my brother? He might know that when I am in full dress I
deserve far greater respect from when he sees me before him in my night
clothes.--But so it is with those whose business lies in flour.
But let us speak no more of bakers; let us soar into higher regions.
Our carriage stopped somewhere in the neighborhood of the House of
Parliament, where there was a two-storied house, in which the P. C.
lived.
The butler--pardon! the chamberlain--was waiting for us downstairs at
the gate (it is possible that it was not for us he was waiting). He
conducted us up the staircase; from the staircase to the porch; from the
porch to the anteroom; from the anteroom to the drawing-room, where our
host was waiting to receive us.
I used to think that at home we were elegant people--that we lodged and
lived in style; but how poor I felt we were as we went through the rooms
of the Balnokhazys. The splendor only incited my admiration and wonder,
which was abruptly terminated by the arrival of the host and hostess and
their daughter, Melanie, by three different doors. The P. C. was a tall,
portly man, broad-shouldered, with black eyebrows, ruddy cheeks, a
coal-black moustache curled upward; he formed the very ideal I had
pictured to myself of a P. C. His hair also was of a beautiful black,
fashionably dressed.
He greeted us in a voice rich and stentorian; kissed grandmother;
offered his hand to my brother, who shook it; while he allowed me to
kiss his hand.
What an enormous turquoise ring there was on his finger!
Then my right honorable aunt came into our presence. I can say that
since that day I have never seen a more beautiful woman. She was then
twenty-three years of age; I know quite surely. Her beautiful face, its
features preserved with the enamel of youth, seemed almost that of a
young girl; her long blonde tresses waved around it; her lips, of
graceful symmetry, always ready for a smile; her large, dark blue, and
melancholy eyes shadowed by her long eyelashes; her whole form seemed
not to walk--rather fluttered and glided; and the hand which she gave me
to kiss was transparent as alabaster.
My cousin Melanie was truly a little angel. Her first appearance, to me,
was a phenomenon. Methinks no imagination could picture anything more
lovely, more ethereal than her whole form. She was not yet more than
eight years of age, but her stature gave her the appearance of some ten
years. She was slender, and surely must have had some hidden wings, else
it were impossible she could have fluttered as she did upon those
symmetrical feet. Her face was fine and _distingue_, her eyes artful and
brilliant; her lips were endowed with such gifts already--not merely of
speaking four or five languages--such silent gifts as brought me beside
myself. That child-mouth could smile enchantingly with encouraging
calmness, could proudly despise, could pout with displeasure, could
offer tacit requests, could muse in silent melancholy, could indulge in
enthusiastic rapture--could love and hate.
How often have I dreamed of that lovely mouth! how often seen it in my
waking hours! how many horrible Greek words have I learned while musing
thereon!
I could not describe that dinner at the Balnokhazys to the end. Melanie
sat beside me, and my whole attention was directed toward her.
How refined was her behavior! how much elegance there was in every
movement of hers! I could not succeed in learning enough from her. When,
after eating, she wiped her lips with the napkin, it was as if spirits
were exchanging kisses with the mist. Oh, how interminably silly and
clumsy I was beside her! My hand trembled when I had to take some dish.
Terrible was the thought that I might perchance drop the spoon from my
hand and stain her white muslin dress with the sauce. She, for her part,
seemed not to notice me; or, on the contrary, rather, was quite sure of
the fact that beside her was sitting now a living creature, whom she had
conquered, rendered dumb and transformed. If I offered her something,
she could refuse so gracefully; and if I filled her glass, she was so
polite when she thanked me.
No one busied himself very particularly with me. A young boy at my age
is just the most useless article; too big to be played with, and not big
enough to be treated seriously. And the worst of it is that he feels it
himself. Every boy of twelve years has the same ambition--"If only I
were older already!"
Now, however, I say, "If I could only be twelve years old still!" Yet at
that time it was a great burden to me. And how many years have passed
since then!
Only toward the end of dinner, when the younger generation also were
allowed to sip some sweet wine from their tiny glasses, did I find the
attention of the company drawn toward me; and it was a curious case.
The butler filled my glass also. The clear golden-colored liquor
scintillated so temptingly before me in the cut glass, my little
neighbor would so enchantingly deepen the ruddiness of her lips with the
liquor from her glass, that an extraordinarily rash idea sprang up
within me.
I determined to raise my glass, clink glasses with Melanie, and say to
her, "Your health, dear cousin Melanie." The blood rushed into my
temples as I conceived the idea.
I was already about to take my glass, when I cast one look at Melanie's
face, and in that moment she gazed upon me with such disheartening pride
that in terror I withdrew my hand from my glass. It was probably this
hesitating movement of mine that attracted the P. C.'s attention, for he
deigned to turn to me with the following condescending remark (intended
perhaps for an offer):
"Well, nephew, won't you try this wine?" With undismayed determination I
answered:
"No."
"Perhaps you don't wish to drink wine?"
Cato did not utter the phrase "Victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa
Catoni," with more resolution than that with which I answered:
"Never!"
"Oho! you will never drink wine? We shall see how you keep your word in
the course of time!"
And that is why I kept my word. Till to-day I have never touched wine.
Probably that first fit of obstinacy caused my determination; in a word,
slighted in the first glass, I never touched again any kind of pressed,
distilled, or burnt beverage. So perhaps my house lost in me an
after-dinner celebrity.
"Don't be ashamed, nephew," encouragingly continued my uncle; "this wine
is allowed to the young also, if they dip choice Pressburg biscuits in
it; it is a very celebrated biscuit, prepared by M. Fromm."
My blood rose to my cheeks. M. Fromm! My host! Immediately the
conversation will turn upon him, and they will mention that I am living
with him; furthermore, they will relate that he has a little pug-nosed
daughter, that they are going to exchange me with her. I should sink
beneath the earth for very shame before my cousin Melanie! And surely,
one has only to fear something and it will indeed come to pass.
Grandmother was thoughtless enough to discover immediately what I wished
to conceal, with these words:
"Desiderius is going to live with that very man."
"Ha ha!" laughed uncle, in high humor (his laughter penetrated my very
marrow). "With the celebrated 'Zwieback'[20] baker! Why, he can teach my
nephew to bake Pressburg biscuits."
[Footnote 20: Biscuit.]
How I was scalded and reduced to nothing, how I blushed before Melanie!
The idea of my learning to bake biscuits from M. Fromm! I should never
be able to wash myself clean of that suspicion.
In my despair I found myself looking at Lorand. He also was looking at
me. His gaze has remained lividly imprinted in my memory. I understood
what he said with his eyes. He called me coward, miserable, and
sensitive, for allowing the jests of great men to bring blushes to my
cheeks. He was a democrat always!
When he saw that I was blushing, he turned obstinately toward
Balnokhazy, to reply for me.
But I was not the only one who read his thoughts in his eyes; another
also read therein, and before he could have spoken, my beautiful aunt
took the words out of his mouth, and with lofty dignity replied to her
husband:
"Methinks the baker is just as good a man as the privy councillor."
I shivered at the bold statement. I imagined that for these words the
whole company would be arrested and thrown into prison.
Balnokhazy, with smiling tenderness, bent down to his wife's hand and,
kissing it, said:
"As a man, truly, just as good a man; but as a baker, a better baker
than I."
Now it was Lorand's turn to crimson. He riveted his eyes upon my aunt's
face.
My right honorable uncle hastened immediately to close the rencontre
with a vanquishing kiss upon my aunt's snow-white hand, a fact which
convinced me that their mutual love was endless. In general, I behaved
with remarkable respect toward that great relation of ours, who lived in
such beautiful apartments, and whose titles would not be contained in
three lines.
I was completely persuaded that Balnokhazy, my uncle, had few superiors
in celebrity in the world, for personal beauty (except, perhaps, my
brother Lorand) none; his wife was the most beautiful and happiest woman
under the sun; and my cousin Melanie such an angel that, if she did not
raise me up to heaven, I should surely never reach those climes.
And if some one had said to me then, "Let us begin at the beginning;
that rich hair on Balnokhazy's head is but a wig," I should have
demanded pardon for interrupting: I can find nothing of the least
importance to say against the wearing of wigs. They are worn by those
who have need of them; by those whose heads would be cold without them,
who catch rheumatism easily with uncovered head. Finally, it is nought
else but a head-covering for one of aesthetic tastes; a cap made of hair.
This is all true, all earnest truth; and yet I was greatly embittered
against that some one who discovered to me for the first time that my
uncle Balnokhazy wore a wig, and painted his moustache (with some
colored unguent, of course, nothing else). And I am still the enemy of
that some one who repeated that before me. He might have left me in
happy ignorance.
Even if some one had said that this showy wealth, which indicated a
noble affluence, was also such a mere wig as the other, covering the
baldness of his riches; if some one had said that these hand-kissing
companions, in whose every word was melody when they spoke the one to
the other, that they did not love, but hated and despised one another;
if some one had said that this lovely, ideal angel of mine even--but no
farther, not so much at once!
At the end of dinner our noble relations were so gracious as to permit
my cousin Melanie to play the piano before us. She was only eight years
old as yet, still she could play as beautifully as other girls of nine
years.
I had very rarely heard a piano; at home mother played sometimes, though
she did not much care for it. Lorand merely murdered the scales, which
was not at all entertaining for me.
My cousin Melanie executed opera selections, and a French quadrille
which excited my extremest admiration. My beautiful aunt laid stress
upon the fact that she had only studied two years. A very intricate plan
began to develop within me.
Melanie played the piano, I the violin. Nothing could be more natural
than that I should come here with my violin to play an obligato to
Melanie's piano; and if afterward we played violin and piano together
perseveringly for eight or nine years, it would be impossible that we
should not in the end reach the goal of life on that road.
In consequence I strove to display my usefulness by turning over the
leaves of the music for her; and my pride was greatly hurt by the fact
that my noble relations did not ask grandmother how I understood how to
read music. Finally the end came to this, as to every good thing; my
cousin Melanie was not quite "up" in the remaining pieces, though I
would have listened even to half-learned pieces, but my grandmother was
getting ready to return to the Fromms'. The Balnokhazys asked her to
spend the night with them, but she replied that she had been there
before, and that I was there too; and she would remain with the younger.
I detested myself so for the idea that I was a drag upon my good
grandmother; why, I ought to have kissed the dust upon her feet for
those words:
"I shall remain with the younger." My brother I envied, who for his part
was "at home" with the P. C.
When I kissed my relations' hands at parting, Balnokhazy thrust a silver
dollar[21] into my hand, adding with magnificent munificence:
[Footnote 21: Thaler.]
"For a little poppy-cake, you know."
Why, it is true, that in Pressburg very fine poppy-biscuits are made;
and it is also true, that many poppy-goodies might be bought, a few at a
time, for a dollar; likewise I cannot deny that so much money had never
been in my hand, as my very own, to spend as I liked. I would not have
exchanged it for two other dollars, if it had not been given me before
Melanie. I felt that it degraded me in her eyes. I could not discover
what to do with that dollar. I scarce dared to look at Melanie when he
departed; still I remarked that she did not look at me either when I
left.
At the door Lorand seized my hand.
"Desi," said he severely, "that thing that the P. C. thrust into your
hand you must give to the butler, when he opens the carriage door."
I liked the idea. By that they would know who I was; and my eyes would
no longer be downcast before cousin Melanie.
But, when I thrust the dollar into the butler's hand, I was so
embarrassed by his matter-of-fact grandeur that any one who had seen us
might have thought the butler had presented me with something. I hoped
uncle would not exclude me from his house for that.
Long did that quadrille sound in my ears; long did that
phenomenon-pianist haunt me; how long I cannot tell!
She was the standard of my ambition, the prize of a long race, which
must be won. In my imagination the whole world thronged before her. I
saw the roads by which one might reach her.
I too wished to be a man like them. I would learn diligently; I would be
the first "eminence" in the school, my teacher would take pride in me,
and would say at the public examination: "This will be a great man some
day." I would pass my barrister's exams, with distinction; would serve
my time under a sheriff; would court the acquaintance of great men of
distinction; would win their favor by my gentle, humble conduct; I would
be ready to serve; any work intrusted to me I would punctually perform;
would not mix in evil company; would make my talent shine; would write
odes of encomium, panegyrics, on occasions of note; till finally, I
should myself, like my uncle, become "secretarius," "assessor,"
"septemvir," and "consiliarius."
Ha, ha, ha!
When we returned to Master Fromm's, the delicate attention of little
Miss Pugnose was indeed burdensome. She would prattle all kinds of
nonsense. She asked of what the fine dinner consisted; whether it was
true that the daughter of the "consiliarius" had a doll that danced,
played the guitar, and nodded its head. Ridiculous! As if people of such
an age as Melanie and I interested themselves in dolls! I told Henrik to
interpret this to her; I observed that it put her in a bad temper, and
rejoiced that I had got rid of her.
I remarked that I must go and study, and the lesson was long. So I went
to my room and began to study. Two hours later I observed that nothing
of what I had learnt remained in my head; every place was full of that
councillor's daughter.
In the evening we again assembled in Master Fromm's dining-room. Fanny
again sat next to me, was again in good humor, treating me as familiarly
as if we had been the oldest acquaintances; I was already frightened of
her. It would be dreadful for the Balnokhazys to suspect that one had a
baker's daughter as an acquaintance, always ready to jump upon one's
neck when she saw one.
Well, fortunately she would be taken away next day, and then would be
far away, as long as I remained in the house; we should be like two
opposite poles, that avoid each other.
Before bedtime grandmother came into the room once more. She gave me my
effects, counted over my linen. She gave me pocket-money, promising to
send me some every month with Lorand's.
"Then I beg you," she whispered in my ear, "take care of Lorand!"
Again that word!
Again that hint that I, the child, must take care of my brother, the
young man! But the second time the meaning, which the first time I had
not understood, burst at once clearly upon me; at first I thought,
"Perhaps some mistaken wisdom or serious conduct on my part has deserved
this distinction of looking after my brother." Now I discovered that the
best guardian was eternal love; and mother and grandmother knew well
that I loved Lorand better than he loved himself.
And indeed, what cause had they to fear for him? And from what could I
defend him?
Was he not living in the best place in the world? And did I not live far
from him?
Grandmother exacted from me a promise to write a diary of all that
happened about us, and to send the same to her at the end of each month.
I was to write all about Lorand too; for he himself was a very bad
letter-writer.
I promised.
Then we kissed and took leave. They had to start early in the morning.
But the next day, when the carriage stood at the door, I was waiting
ready dressed for them.
The whole Fromm family came down to the carriage to say adieu to the
travellers.
That girl who was going to occupy my place was sad herself. Methought
she was much more winning, when sadness made her eyes downcast.
One could see from her eyes that she had been weeping, that she was even
now forcibly restraining herself from weeping. She spoke a few short
words to me, and then disappeared behind grandmother in the carriage.
The whip cracked, the horses started, and my substitute departed for my
dear home, while I remained in her place.
As I pondered for the first time over my great isolation, in a place
where everybody was a stranger to me, and did not even understand my
speech, at once all thought of the great man, the violin-virtuoso, the
first eminence, the P. C., the heroic lover, disappeared from within me;
I leaned my head against the wall, and would have wept could I have done
so.