Valentine really becomes one of those who work in
blood.
Valentine's mother had become a widow in her first youth. Her
husband, an eminent citizen of Kassa and sheriff there, had been
detained as a hostage by the Turks at Buda, whither he had gone on a
diplomatic mission, and, succumbing to an attack of the Oriental
plague, died in captivity, leaving behind him a widow and a little
orphan son. He could only make his will orally, in the presence of
two other hostages as witnesses, but it was on that very account all
the more religiously adhered to. It prescribed that his widow should
retain possession of the whole of his property so long as it pleased
God to preserve her in the flesh, so that she might bring up her
little son in the fear of the Lord, in all pious ways, in the true
Christian Calvinistic faith, and, "quantum potest," in all knowledge
and learning.
These testamentary dispositions were most rigorously observed. Dame
Kalondai herself carried on the business of her late husband, who
had been butcher and ham-curer as well as sheriff, and she never
gave her son a stepfather, though in her day she must have been a
very pretty woman. Even now she was so buxom and blooming that she
looked like a gigantic edition of a swaddling babe. She had taken
particular care that Valentine should be properly educated. He
always had nice clothes and well-bound books, and when the proper
time came she sent him to Keszmár, though it was with a very heavy
heart that she consented to part from her little son for so long a
time.
So worthy Dame Sarah did not see her little son again for three full
years, and when at last he did appear before her she could scarcely
recognize him.
She could not get it into her head that the man with the big
mustache was really her own little son. His father at his age had
had no sign of one.
Then she tried to persuade him that he had grown thin. The
melancholy which Valentine could not hide from her she ascribed to
some illness or other. The bad mountain-water was certainly to blame
for it.
And she had good remedies against such complaints. They were not,
indeed, of the drastic sort of which the professor at Keszmár had so
large a store; her remedies were simply good and tasty dishes which
she prepared for her little son with her own hands. She invented a
savory dish against every ill of life, and you had only to taste of
it to be instantly cured. And when the evil was caused by bad water,
with what could you more certainly cure it than with good wine?
But Valentine's sadness would yield neither to the most delicate
cookery nor to the most savory meats; he allowed the daintiest
tit-bits to remain on his plate untouched, as if he meant to save
them for someone else, and he drank the good wine mixed with water.
Worthy Dame Sarah vainly bothered her little son to tell her what
was the matter with him. On all such occasions he would only smile,
kiss his mother on the cheek, and tell her that there was absolutely
nothing the matter with him, his disposition had only changed a
little lately, he said. He naturally did not tell Dame Sarah
anything of what had happened to him at school.
Now if anyone ever wants to know what is really going on at his own
house, let him just go to his neighbor's and there he'll find out
all about it.
One Sunday evening Dame Sarah came home from her neighbors', the
Fürmenders.
"Why, Valentine!" she cried, "what is this I hear of you? Young
Fürmender says that you were expelled from the school at Keszmár!"
"If he says so he speaks the truth."
Oh how delighted was Mistress Sarah when she heard these words!
"If it's only that which grieves you, my dear, good child!" said
she, soothingly, "don't think anything more about it. Your father
was expelled from three schools, but that did not prevent him from
getting a wife and becoming sheriff. You, too, will pick up a nice
girl, and may become sheriff as well, one day. Don't fret yourself
about it. I never meant you to be a parson."
With that she kissed and embraced him, and he really did seem a
little more cheerful after all these tokens of motherly love.
Very soon, however, his face was as long as ever.
Dame Sarah's remedies were inexhaustible. The best thing for such
moping, woebegone fellows, is certainly wedlock. An unmarried man is
like a widower and a widower has cause to be miserable.
She choose for him a virtuous, discreet damsel, the sister of the
above-mentioned young Fürmender, Catherine by name, who was by no
means indisposed toward the stately Valentine Kalondai. Beautiful,
indeed, you could scarcely call her; but her mother had not been a
whit prettier, and yet she had managed to do very well.
Then she took her son Valentine to the social gatherings, where the
young lads and lasses, beneath the eyes of their parents, made
merry with one another in all meekness and sobriety.
But Valentine led neither blonde nor brunette out to dance. There he
stood leaning against the wall as if he had been put there for the
express purpose of propping it up, and kept as still as if he was
afraid of missing a single word of the conversation that was going
on around him.
And when the bolster dance followed, during which it is the amiable
custom for the lads and lasses to alternately carry round a silken
bolster, deposit it in front of the person whom he or she likes
best, kneel down upon it, and so remain till the favored one
tenderly raises the suppliant and dances with her, whereupon it is
his turn to carry the bolster round--then, I say, Valentine behaved
very badly. For when Kitty Fürmender brought the bolster to him, and
sank down on her knees before him, Valentine would not dance with
her, and did not even raise her up, but rudely told her that he had
made a vow never to dance again. Then Kitty naturally burst out
crying, for how could an honest girl be insulted more grossly?
When they got home Dame Sarah said to her son:
"I say, Valentine, young Fürmender says you are possessed by evil
spirits."
"I don't much care if I am."
"And for that reason you don't trust yourself to talk with the
girls. He also says you will have nothing to do with your father's
business because you have a horror of blood."
"He says that, does he? Well, I'll just show you to-morrow that I've
no fear of blood, and am well able to carry on my father's trade."
Dame Sarah rejoiced greatly at these words, for nothing would have
pleased her better than to have seen her son relieve her of the
cares of the business; and no sooner had Valentine declared his
intention of approving himself a master in his craft than she handed
over to him the keys of the chamber in which were preserved the
tools and weapons of his father, the butcher's ax, the knives,
muskets, and swords, which no man's hand had been allowed to touch
since his death. It is not surprising, therefore, if all these
implements were somewhat rust-eaten, and it was only natural that
Valentine should spend the whole of the forenoon in furbishing them
up with polishing powder, tow, and chalk, till they shone as bright
as mirrors. He was evidently determined that his father's tools
should gleam quite splendidly when he wrought his promised
masterpiece.
At midday Dame Sarah served up all Valentine's favorite dishes, and
after she had feasted her little son right royally, she told him
that she had given due notice to the guild-master that her boy was
about to qualify himself for his profession, and also that she had
already paid for the license. All ready in the stall stood the fat
ox whereon he was to display his dexterity on this occasion. In the
cellar a cask of wine had been broached, and on the counter she had
deposited four or five gold pieces, as it was quite possible that
the 'prentice hand of the young master might have lost its cunning,
so that he would not be able to fell the ox at a single blow, in
which case he would have to pay to the butcher's guild a gold piece
for every extra blow till the ox fell.
"Alas, dear mother," cried Valentine, "my guild-master is not where
you seek him. Captain Count Hommonai will be my guild-master. It is
not in the slaughter-house, but on the battlefield that I mean to
achieve my masterpiece. I will not strike oxen, which are unable to
defend themselves, but Turks, who can give back blow for blow. War
shall be my trade."
At first Dame Sarah would not believe him, she thought it was only
the wine which was speaking out of him; but when Valentine fetched
down his father's arms, the old sword, the musket, the long
three-edged dagger, all most splendidly burnished, the good woman
burst into tears, fell upon his neck, begged him to stay at home,
and adjured him not to commit such an act of folly. He was still too
weak a lad for that sort of thing, she said. What! had she brought
him up so nicely, and even got a learned professor to teach him
Latin, only that he might now go away and be cut down by the first
wild Turk he met, or get one of his legs torn off by a chain-shot,
and leave his widowed mother comfortless? But all this had not the
slightest effect upon Valentine. He replied that his father had gone
to the wars before him, and he meant to do what his father had done.
Now when Dame Sarah saw that all her maternal begging and praying
and all her fine words were quite thrown away upon her son, she
suddenly turned round and overwhelmed him with the bitterest curses.
"Very well, then, you wicked, obstinate son, if you _will_ bring
trouble and sorrow down upon your mother's head, go, and be hanged
to you. I know all about it. Young Fürmender has told me that you
have chummed up with a vagabond sort of fellow, one Simplex, who
serves as field-trumpeter with Count Hommonai, and is your dearest
bosom friend. He it is who leads you astray into all kinds of
wickedness. He it is who has persuaded you to be a soldier. Very
well, if your comrade is dearer to you than your own mother, be off
with you. You may go and die far away where I can't get you buried,
for all that I care. If one of your hands is cut off I'll disown
you, for my son had both his hands. You may go and beg your bread,
but don't look to me for help. From me you don't get a red farthing.
Your father left all his property to me, remember."
"Except his weapons," said Valentine. He asked for nothing more, but
went straight off to Captain Hommonai and enlisted under his banner.
They gave him a horse, a wolf skin, and three Polish guldens by way
of enlistment-money, and kept fast hold of him, for the troops were
to set out for the camp at Onod at a moment's notice.
And Mistress Sarah hardened her heart to such a degree, that as the
banderium marched out of the town the same night amidst the blare of
clarions, she did not even stand in the doorway to greet her son for
the last time; but she hid herself behind the flower-pots in the
window, and while she peered yearningly after him, she poured out
all the fury of her heart upon the trumpeter by wishing that he
might break his neck on the way. And this curse was within an ace of
being fulfilled upon worthy Simplex.