THE BRIDAL FEAST
"Poor Czipra! I thought you would bury us all, and now it is I that must
give you that one clod of earth the only gift you asked from the whole
beautiful world."
Topandy himself saw after the sad arrangements.
Lorand could not speak: he was beside himself with grief.
He merely said he would like to have his darling embalmed and to take
her to his family property, there to bury her.
This wish of his must be fulfilled.
It would be a sad surprise for his mother, to whom Topandy only the day
before had written that her son was bringing home a new daughter-in-law.
When Lorand had asked Topandy for Czipra's hand, he immediately wrote to
Mrs. Aronffy, thinking that what Lorand himself wrote to his mother
would be in a proud strain. He anticipated his nephew's letter, told his
mother quietly and restrainedly in order that Lorand's letter might be
no surprise to her.
Now he must write again to her, telling that the bride was coming, and
the family vault must be ready for her reception.
And curiously Topandy felt no pain in his heart as he thought over it.
"Death is after all the best solution of life!"
He did not shed a single tear upon the letter he wrote: he sealed it and
looked for a servant to despatch it.
But other thoughts occupied him.
He sought the magistrate.
"My dear sir, when do you want to lock me up?"
"When you like, sir."
"Would you not take me to gaol immediately?"
"With pleasure, sir."
"How many years have they given me?"
"Only two."
"I expected more. Well, then I can take this letter myself into the
town."
"Will Mr. Aronffy remain here?"
"No. He will take his dead love home to the country. I have asked the
doctor to embalm her, and I have a lead casket which I prepared for
myself with the intention of continuing my opposition to the ordinance
of God within it: now I have no need of it. I will lend it to Czipra.
That is her dowry."
An hour later he went in search of Lorand, who was still guarding his
dead darling. The magistrate was there too.
"My dear sir," he said to the officer. "I am not going to the gaol now."
"Not yet?" inquired Daruszegi. "Very well."
"Not now, nor at any other time. A greater master has given me
orders--in a different direction."
They began to look at him in astonishment.
His face was much paler than usual: but still that good-humored irony
and light-hearted smile was there.
"Lorand, my boy, there will be two funerals here."
"Who is the second dead person?" asked Daruszegi.
"I am."
Then he drew from his breast his left hand which he had hitherto held
thrust in his coat.
"An hour ago I wrote a letter to your mother. As I was sealing it the
hot wax dripped onto my nail, and see how my hand has blackened since."
The tips of his left hand were blue and swollen.
"The doctor, quickly," cried Daruszegi to his servant.
"Never mind. It is already unnecessary," said Topandy, falling languidly
into an arm-chair. "In two hours it is over. I cannot live more than two
hours. In twenty minutes this swelling will reach my shoulder, and the
way from thence to the heart is short."
The doctor, who hastened to appear, confirmed Topandy's opinion.
"There is nothing to be done," he said.
Lorand, horror-stricken, hastened to take care of his uncle: the old
fellow embraced the neck of the youth kneeling beside him.
"You philosopher, you were right after all, you see. There is One who
takes thought for two-legged featherless animals too. If I had
known,--'Knock and it shall be opened unto you:' I should long have
knocked at the door and cried, 'O Lord, let me in!'"
Topandy would not allow himself to be undressed and put to bed.
"Draw my chair beside Czipra. Let me learn from her how a dead man must
behave. My death will not be so fine as hers: I shall not breathe my
soul into the soul of my loved one: yet I shall be a gay
travelling-companion."
Pain interrupted his words.
When it ceased, he laughed at himself.
"How a foolish mass of flesh protests! It will not allow itself to be
overlorded. Yet we were only guests here! '_Animula, vagula, blandula.
Hospes comesque corporis. Quae nunc adibis loca? Frigidula, palidula,
undula! Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos._' Certainly you will be '_extra
dominium_' immediately. And my lord Stomach, his Grace, and my lord
Heart, his Excellency, and my lord Head, his Royal Highness all must
resign office."
The doctor declared he must be suffering terrible agony all the time he
was jesting and laughing; and he laughed when other people would have
gnashed their teeth and cried aloud.
"We have disputed often, Lorand," said the old man, always in a fainter
voice, "about that German savant who asserted that the inhabitants of
other planets are much nobler men than we here on earth. If he asks what
has become of me, tell him I have advanced. I have gone to a planet
where there are no peasants: barons clean earls' boots. Don't laugh at
me, I beg, if I am talking foolishly.--But death dictates very curious
verses."
The hand-grasp with which he greeted Lorand, proved that it was his
last.
After that his hand drooped, his eyes languished, his face became ever
more and more yellow.
Once again he raised his eyes.
They met Lorand's gaze.
He wished to smile: in a whisper, straining desperately he said:
"Immediately now ... I shall know--what is--in the foggy spots of the
Northern Dog-star:--and in the eyeless worm's----entrails."
Then, suddenly, with a forced final spasmodic effort, he seized the arms
of his chair, and rose, lifted up his right arm, and turned to the
magistrate.
"Sir," he cried in a strong full-toned voice, "I have appealed."
He fell back in the arm-chair.
Some minutes later every wrinkle disappeared from his face, it became as
smooth as marble, and calm, as those of dead persons are wont to be.
Lorand was standing there with clasped hands between his two dear dead
ones.
* * * * *
On the morrow at dawn Lorand rose for his journey and stepped into the
cart with a closed lead coffin. So he took home his dead bride.
The second letter which Topandy had written to his mother, the sealing
of which had sealed his own fate, had not been posted, and could not
have prepared them for his coming.
At home they had received only the first letter.
When that letter of good tidings arrived it caused feelings of
intoxicated delight and triumph throughout the whole house.
After all they loved him still best of all. He was the favorite child
of his mother and grandmother. No word of Desiderius is required for his
heart was already united to his darling: and good Fanny was doubly happy
in the idea that she would not be the only happy woman in the house.
With what joy they awaited him!
Could he ever have doubted that the one he loved would be loved by
all?--no need to speak of her virtues: everybody knew them: all he need
say was "I love her."
It was certainly very well he did not send his mother that letter, in
which he had written of Czipra and requested his mother's
blessing:--well that he had not wounded the dearest mother's heart with
those final words--"but if you curse her whom I love--"
Curse her whom he loves!
Why should they do so? That letter brought a holiday to the house. They
arranged the country dwelling afresh: Desiderius took up his residence
in the town, handing over to his elder brother his birthright.
The eldest lady put off her mourning. Lorand's bride must not see
anything that could recall sad thoughts. Everything sad was buried under
the earth.
Desiderius could relate so much that was pleasant of the gypsy girl:
Lorand's letters during the past ten years of silence always spoke of
the poor despised diamond, whose faithful attachment had been the sunny
side of Lorand's life. They read the bundles of letters again and again:
it was a study for the two mothers. Where Lorand had been giving merely
a passing hint, they could make great explanations, all pointing to
Czipra.
Providence had ordered it so!
After the first meeting in the inn, it had all been ordained that Lorand
should save Czipra from the murderer's knife, in order to be happy with
her later.
... Why the gypsy girl was happy already.
Topandy's letter informed them that, immediately after the despatch of
the letter, Lorand would wed Czipra, and they would come home together
to the house of his parents.
So the day was known, they might even reckon the hour when they would
arrive.
Desiderius remained in town to await Lorand. He promised to bring them
out, however late they came, even in the night.
The ladies waited up until midnight. They waited outside under the
verandah. It was a beautiful warm moonlit night.
The good grandmother, embracing Fanny's shoulder, related to her how
many, many years ago they had waited one night for the two brothers to
come, but that was a very awful night, and the waiting was very
sorrowful. The wind howled among the acacias, clouds chased each other
across the sky, hounds howled in the village, a hay-wain rattled in at
the gate--and in it was hidden the coffin.--And the populace was very
suspicious: they thought the ice would break its bounds, if a dead man
were taken over it.
But now it was quite a different world. The air was still, not a breath
of air: man and beast sleeps, only those are awake who await a bride.
How different the weather!
Then, all at once, a wain had stood at the gate: the servants hastened
to open it.
A hay-wain now rattled in at the gate, as it did then.
And after the wain, on foot, the two brothers, hand in hand.
The women rushed to meet them, Lorand was the first whom everyone
embraced and kissed.
"And your wife?" asked every lip.
Lorand pointed speechlessly to the wain, and could not tell them.
Desiderius answered in his place.
"We have brought his wife here in her coffin."