One evening, towards the end of summer, my uncle, Lorincz Kassay, the
sub-sheriff of the county, was seated on a bench before his
_porte-cochère_, which stood wide open, without bar or gate, as
beseemed the entrance to the house of an hospitable Hungarian
gentleman.
True, half a dozen dogs, nearly as large as bears, were lying lazily
about the court, and might have rendered the entrance embarrassing to
persons of hostile intention; but as for strangers in general, these
honest guards were too well accustomed to see them treated as the
angels were by Abraham, to take any further notice than by a friendly
bark, and a slow shake of the tail.
Uncle Lorincz Kassay sat enjoying his pipe, and calling across the
road to his assistant, who was likewise seated at the door of his
house, enveloped in the same comfortable fumes. The conversation might
have been carried on with more facility had one of these worthy
gentlemen crossed to the other side--the road being wide, and a
stentorian voice necessary to make one's-self understood--but the mud
lay so deep between the two houses, that it was severe work for carts
and carriages to get through; and when it was absolutely necessary to
cross the road, the passenger was obliged to make a considerable
circuit, by the garden and meadow, holding on by the rail, besides
returning the same way: consequently Uncle Lorincz and his ally found
it less troublesome, and more convenient on the whole, to exert their
lungs in the manner above mentioned.
Meanwhile my readers may be curious to learn how I am related to this
worthy gentleman; but this indeed I cannot tell. I only know that he
is called by all who know him Lorincz Kassay, bacsi;[1] and I would
advise my friends likewise to adopt him as such, for he is a
thoroughly honest and honourable country gentleman, and will never
give them cause to blush at his name. Let us keep up the good old
Magyar custom of calling our elders by the familiar titles of uncle
and aunt, while we are privileged to those of nephews and nieces.
[Footnote 1: _Bacsi_, contraction for _batya_--"elder brother," or
"uncle."]
Uncle Lorincz belonged to that medium class whose duty is to manage
the laws and rights of the people, keep up their national
prerogatives, look after their interests, in short, to labour without
noise or fame,--a man of whom neither history nor poets speak, for the
upright and honourable man is not so rare a character among us as to
render it necessary to emblazon his name in history; and what could a
poet make of an honest man who has neither romance enough to carry off
his neighbour's wife, nor to shoot his best friend through the head
for looking askance at him? Such a man as Uncle Lorincz, for instance,
who comes into the world without the aid of star or horoscope, grows
up without becoming a virtuoso on the piano, goes through his classes
satisfactorily, and without occasioning any mutiny, and, finally,
returns like a dutiful son to his parents, who assist him to look out
for a good wife, whom he marries without any poetical occurrences; and
who, when his parents are gathered to their fathers, inherits their
blessing and their property unencumbered by debt--for this class of
our countrymen consider debt as a species of crime; their principle
being that an honest man should not spend more than his income. This
principle had taken such root in Uncle Kassay's mind, that, rather
than run up an account at the shoemaker's, he has been known, in his
scholar days, to feign illness and keep his room, when his boots
needed mending, until the necessary money arrived from home; and the
same sense of honour, combined with the most lavish hospitality,
characterized him through life.
Having been directly called upon by the county, he had accepted the
situation of szolgabiro or sheriff--which the Hungarian takes upon
himself _ex nobili officio_--from a generous sense of duty, rather
than for the lucrative advantages attached to it, which by no means
compensate for the dinners he is obliged to give; but he readily makes
a sacrifice for the honour of the employment, and the confidence of
the people in that incorruptible conscience which is chosen as the
earthly providence of an entire district, to keep order and administer
justice among twenty or thirty thousand people.
At the time our story commences, Lorincz and his worthy assistant were
actually discussing some affair of great moment across the road, when
their attention was attracted by shrill voices, and, looking in the
direction of the sounds, they perceived a conveyance which it will be
worth while to describe at length, as such things are not to be met
with every day, particularly now that railroads are making so great
innovations in our old habits and fashions.
It was a gentleman's calèche; the leather was somewhat spotted and
gray, which may be easily accounted for, however, by the continual
roosting of poultry on its roof. When or where the machinery had been
contrived, it would be impossible to decide, for, according to
historical date, suspended calèches existed in the days of Lajos I.
The form of the body might be compared to a water-melon cut in half,
which body was so convulsed by its four high springs at each
irregularity of the road, that the tongues within ran the risk of
being severed in twain when they attempted to speak, while their
owners would certainly have been pitched out, had they not held well
on by the sides. It was as impossible to open the doors as it was to
shut them, for which reason they were permanently secured by
well-knotted ropes. Above the two hinder wheels a large bundle of
straw was attached, which threatened at every jerk to light on the
heads of the inmates. Before this worthy ancestral memorial three very
quiet horses were attached, a pie-bald, a bay, and a white, all three
up to their ears in mud, and assisting one another with their shaggy
tails to whip the reins out of the coachman's hand, while their hides
exhibited various graphic traces of the whip.
In truth, the noble animals did not lack good-will, but only the
necessary capabilities for the station they now filled, being honest
cart-horses, neither born nor bred to draw an iron-springed calèche;
and, sensible no doubt of their inability, they paused every ten
minutes to draw breath instead, and to regard each other with doleful
expressions.
On one of these occasions--namely, when the horses paused, and did not
seem disposed to proceed further--one of the four individuals inside
thrust forth a head, and called in a shrill voice to the coachman to
stop.
The voice proceeded from one of the fair sex, whom we cannot at
present describe, as the shawls and mufflers in which she was
enveloped only permitted a glimpse of her respectable nose to be
seen; three other individuals filled the vehicle. Beside the lady sat
a figure in a fur mantle, whose only visible points were a vast beard
and a meerschaum pipe, the bowl of which must have been guarded by
some singular providence, from having its neck broken at every jolt of
the carriage.
Opposite to mamma sat a hopeful sprig, whose head was so well thrust
into his lambskin cap, that only two scarlet ears protruded to view,
turning and perking with unwearied scrutiny to suit their owner's
curiosity. The last place was occupied by a smaller boy, whose large
wondering eyes were fixed on the muddy world around, and whose legs
and feet coming constantly in contact with those of the gentleman
opposite, obliged the latter to draw up in the most inconvenient
manner possible.
The horses having again paused, the lady, working her way with great
exertions through various cloaks and mufflers, called to the coachman
as before to stop, and, addressing one of the bystanders, who stood
gaping at the carriage, asked various questions relative to the
position of Mr. Lorincz Kassay's house; and having received
satisfactory answers, she once more muffled herself in her wrappings,
and desired Marczi to proceed; on which he gave a lash to one horse,
and the half-turned pole giving a blow to the second, the third took
the hint, and they all three began to move, and proceeded in order for
a few minutes, until they arrived in the village, where they once more
paused and hung their heads, while the lady, for the third time,
called to Marczi to stop, fixing as usual on some person whom she
wished to address.
This time, the gentleman of the fur cloak and meerschaum pipe, losing
all patience, cried out, "Zsuzsi, my dear, why the tartar are you
calling to Marczi again, when the plague is our having to stop so
often?"
"Cannot you see, you thick-skull?" rejoined the fair lady sharply,
"that is just the reason I call to him to stop, that folks may not see
we cannot get on!"
Fortunately the last person addressed happened to be the sheriff's
footman, who offered to conduct them to the house, desiring the
coachman to follow, which was easy to say, but not so easy to put in
execution, until the good steeds had recovered breath in due time.
Meanwhile, Uncle Lorincz, observing that the carriage was coming to
his house, blew the embers out of his pipe, and arranging his beard in
two points, advanced to meet his guests. After a good deal of labour,
the vehicle at length struggled into the court, and, unfortunately, in
the confusion occasioned by the general efforts to rise from the heaps
of wrappings, the good man managed to tread on some sensitive member
of his wife's foot. She returned the compliment with a thrust from her
elbow, which caused him to stumble, thereby bringing the hot bowl of
his pipe in contact with the face of his youngest boy, who, uttering a
cry of pain, raised both hands to protect his face, at the same time
striking up the pipe, which broke between the old gentleman's teeth.
"Which of you did that?" cried he furiously, pulling the piece out of
his mouth, and raising his hand threateningly over the heads of the
youngsters. But before the stroke of chastisement could be
administered, Marczi, throwing back his muddy coat, directed it so
skilfully as to fall right over the boys' heads, filling the eyes of
the whole party with dust and mud; and in the confusion of this
unexpected attack, the delinquent thought fit to make his escape as
best he could out of the carriage, smearing his clean white trousers
with the wheels. All these accidents took place in a much shorter
period than I have taken to describe them.
The sub-sheriff, his footman, and other retainers, had now come up to
the assistance of the travellers, and after many ineffectual efforts
to open the carriage doors, they were obliged to give up that point,
and lift out the inmates like so many bundles.
The noise had brought down the lady of the mansion, who waited at the
foot of the stairs to welcome her guests. She was a comely little
round-faced woman, attired in a simple but well-made costume, to which
the small flounced apron and blue-ribbon cap gave an air of coquettish
smartness. She held by the hand a little, dark-eyed, strawberry-lipped
maiden of about six years old, who, half hiding behind her mother's
dress, looked like an amourette preparing to take aim.
The travellers being at last safely landed, the lady advanced to Uncle
Lorincz with an air of amiable confidence, and began a formal
introduction.
"Dear and worthy cousin, I have the pleasure of presenting to you in
my own person Susanna Sajtari, a cousin on the maternal side; being
_en route_, we could not think of passing our dear cousin's house."
"Welcome, welcome; God bless you!" cried Uncle Lorincz, saluting the
lady with several hearty kisses on each cheek. "I am overjoyed at this
unexpected happiness; pray come in, the servants will carry up
everything directly."
"Allow me to present my husband," began the lady.
"Whist! don't tell my name," interrupted the gentleman in the fur
cloak; "let me see if my dear cousin remembers me," and laughing
heartily, he seized both of Uncle Lorincz's hands, and waited for him
to remember.
It was rather an embarrassing situation for Uncle Lorincz, who had not
the slightest recollection of ever having seen his dear cousin before.
"Pooh! how can he recognise you in that cap?" cried his faithful
partner, snatching from her husband's head the prodigious two-eared
fur cap, and exposing a good-natured countenance, with a large, bald
forehead, and features which we meet in a thousand faces, without ever
distinguishing one from the other.
"Ay, do you know me now?" asked the worthy gentleman in a tone of
confidence.
Uncle Lorincz blushed to the ears, and would have given his best
meerschaum to have been helped out of the unpleasant dilemma.
"Oh! certainly, I remember--quite well," he replied, rubbing his
forehead with the tip of his forefinger; "perfectly remember; only the
name will not come into my head."
"Well, do you remember when we sat together at the Gyor elections in
1830?"
"Exactly, the name is on the tip of my tongue."
Among the four thousand people who had assembled for the Raab
elections ten years before, it would have been difficult to recall the
features of one in particular.
"Well, I am that Menyhert Gulyas"--
"Gulyasi!--exactly, so you are! Welcome with all my heart!" cried
Uncle Lorincz, much relieved at being at length freed from such a tax
on his memory, although not a bit the wiser even after hearing the
name.
"And these are my two sons, Sandor and Peter," continued the worthy
lady. "Go and kiss your aunt's hand, boys."
Sandor and Peter rushed forward in obedience to their mother's
command; the younger succeeded in taking possession of his aunt's
hand, which he fervently pressed against lips and nose, while she
slily put the other behind her back.
"You are too old to kiss hands, my dear nephew," she said, at the same
time proffering her cheek to Sandor, who was so embarrassed at the
idea of kissing his aunt, that he scarcely knew what he was about;
and, after the ceremony, was thrown into such a tremor, that he trode
successively on his father's, mother's, and brother's toes.
The great house-dogs now approached to take their part in the
patriarchal reception, thrusting in their cold noses, and licking the
hands of the guests. And here we must observe, the house-dog is an
infallible index of his master's character. Where the great fellow
comes forward with marks of affection, you are always sure of a hearty
welcome; but where, on the contrary, he lies still and growls, you may
expect the question: "When will you be pleased to continue your
route?"
Having entered the hall, the compliments were renewed, according to
the Hungarian fashion: "Hozta Isten (God has brought you); receive us
into your good graces," &c. &c. Bundas and pelisses, shawls and
kerchiefs, began to unwind from the persons of the travellers, and by
degrees each assumed his natural form.
The worthy father of the family was a simple, good-natured looking man
of about fifty, though the blackness of his teeth, caused by incessant
smoking, made him look considerably older. An amiable grin played on
his large, good-humoured countenance, while the colour which bloomed
on his cheeks might have still passed for that of the spring-time of
life, had not the deeper tint in his nose told more of autumn, and the
good red grape.
He wore a green dolmany, descending to the knees, with broad braid,
and oval buttons; and, standing with his hands behind his back, and
his two spurred feet apart, he looked round on the company with a
good-natured smile.
His worthy partner was a short, spare figure, with a tolerably
good-looking face, the most remarkable feature of which was the nose.
This nose could be turned up or down, and twisted right and left, at
its owner's inclination, to suit the pleasure or displeasure she
desired to express; and the family had learned to interpret its
various evolutions so well, that in strange company their eyes were
constantly fixed upon it, as the steersman's on the prow; and good Mr.
Menyhert Gulyasi has been observed, on more than one occasion, to stop
short in the midst of his speech at some sudden contortion of the
leading feature of his better half.
Nephew Sandor was a long strip of a youth, with smooth, puffy cheeks,
and a snub nose. Nature had amply provided him with hands and feet, of
which he seemed painfully aware; for he kept the former in perpetual
motion, as if endeavouring to get rid of them, while the latter had a
peculiar call for stumbling over and treading on everything they came
in contact with.
The smaller boy never left his mother's side, holding fast by her
dress--finding it at the same time a convenient place of refuge for
his nose.
When the guests were made tolerably comfortable, and their hosts had
sufficiently insisted on their considering themselves at home, the
lady of the house disappeared for a few minutes to give some hasty
orders in the kitchen, to the execution of which, sudden cacklings of
various feathered tribes in the court-yard bore conclusive testimony.
When she returned, Uncle Lorincz invited Menyhert and nephew Sandor to
his own sitting-room, to smoke a pipe with him. Before reaching the
apartment, however, it was necessary to pass through several doors, at
each of which a scuffle ensued with nephew Sandor, who could not be
prevailed on to enter before Uncle Lorincz. There was a cheerful fire
in the open stove, with a large wood-basket beside it; comfortable
arm-chairs were ranged around, and the pipe-stand stood forth
invitingly with its many silver-covered meerschaums.
"Pray sit down," said Uncle Kassay, rolling out the arm-chairs, and
showing his guests a good example.
Gulyasi seated himself opposite; but Sandor could by no means think of
such a thing.
"He is not accustomed to much sitting," observed his father.
"Well, well, let him do as he likes," said Uncle Lorincz, leaving him
to stand like a propping-post against the wall; for he was not aware
that our nephew required to have the chair pulled under him, and to be
forcibly pushed into it, before his modesty would allow him to accept
such an offer.
"Take a pipe," said Uncle Lorincz, handing to him the tobacco-bag. The
youth declined.
"Much obliged," said his father for him; "Sandor does not smoke." He
did smoke, however; but was too well brought up to let strangers see
that he knew anything of the comforts of life.
Uncle Lorincz and his guest were soon engaged in an interesting
conversation, by which it appeared that Menyhert had his own ideas,
and ventured to express them too, in the absence of his better half,
and uninfluenced by the motions of her nose.
He declared, in the first place, that it would be much more prudent to
make steam-horses to draw boats instead of steam-boats, and there
would be no risk of the boats being blown up if the boiler burst. Then
he remarked that it would be advisable to propose at the next Diet a
prohibition of the cultivation of potatoes, as the increase of this
article in the market would be highly prejudicial to the growth and
sale of wheat.
Then he uttered imprecations against the new system of pasturage, by
which Government proposed introducing sheep instead of the great studs
which had hitherto been kept on the heaths; "so that in case of war,"
continued the worthy gentleman, "the noblemen would be obliged to ride
on sheep-back."
Finally, he expressed his opinion that the rising generation should be
interdicted the use of mantles, as the students were in the habit of
concealing their violins beneath them, and amusing themselves at the
public houses, dancing and fiddling, to the neglect of their studies,
thereby making this garment a cloak to all bad morals.
A loud "Ha, ha, ha! he, he, he!" suddenly broke forth from the corner
in which Sandor was standing. Both gentlemen turned to see what was
the matter.
"Father's shadow on the wall is so funny when he speaks!" exclaimed
the youth, holding both hands over his mouth to restrain his laughter.
"Perhaps you are cold, nephew, as you are standing with your back
against the stove?" said Uncle Lorincz, fearing that Menyhert was
about to reprove his hopeful son. "Come, my boy, you will never get a
wife if the girls catch you standing behind the stove."
"That would be a sad story," said the father, making grimaces to his
son; "for we are now _en route_ to get a wife for him."
"The tartar!" exclaimed Uncle Lorincz, turning to the stripling with
interest; "so we have a bridegroom here! come, man, let us look at you
a little nearer."
But it would have required a large pair of tongs to draw our nephew
from behind the stove.
"And what does the young man say to the prospect of a fireside of his
own? and who is the chosen fair one?" asked Uncle Lorincz.
Menyhert crossed his legs and looked up to the ceiling, as he was wont
to do when discussing matters of weight. "Well, the girl is no other
than Carolina Berkessy, the only child of my worthy friend, Gabor
Berkessy, pronotarius of the county of Csongrad; her father promised
her to my eldest son, when she was still in the cradle."
"Well, all I can say is, she is a very fine girl," replied Uncle
Lorincz; "a very fine family altogether, and not a thing to be
rejected, if he gives his consent."
"Gives his consent!" cried Menyhert, not without some offence; "and
why should he withhold his consent?"
"Why, only because my nephew is rather young--that's all," replied
Uncle Lorincz.
"What of that?" said his father proudly; "he has sense enough: I will
venture to say that in any company. He attained eminence in every
department at school--But what the tartar smells so strong? You are
singeing your coat, boy! I desired you not to lean against the stove."
Sandor lifted up one of the flaps of his coat, in which a large hole
was already burned.
"Sit down, you ass!" said Menyhert to his accomplished son, who eyed
the damage, as if considering how to get it washed out.
Uncle Lorincz, seeing that the conversation was taking rather an
unparliamentary turn, endeavoured to revive the former subject. "And
probably my nephew has passed his examination too?" he asked.
"And with great credit," replied his father, forgetting the burnt
coat; "that severe G----, who puzzled all the young men, was an
examiner. Tell us what he asked you, Sandor; come, say it off."
Sandor was quite ready to say it all off, but he required to be
pressed.
"Well: _Quomodo_"--
But at that instant the wood-basket swallowed up our nephew, who had
sat down upon it, and, unfortunately, not having been intended for
such service, the lid had broken under him, and he disappeared inside,
with the exception of his hands and feet, which still remained
without.
At this sight Uncle Lorincz could no longer contain himself, but burst
into such a hearty laugh that he almost rolled off his chair. Happily,
by dint of struggling, the basket overturned, and Sandor succeeded
with some difficulty in creeping forth.
His father, having first looked to see that no bones were broken,
prepared to make a terrible explosion; and it is impossible to say how
the affair might have ended, had not the footman entered to announce
that supper was ready.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Aunt Zsuzsi had also initiated her hostess in the mysteries
of their journey, with all its circumstances, and various innocent
additions, such as, that her son Sandor had attained the highest
honours, and that all the girls in their neighbourhood were
desperately in love with him, although he never looked at one of them,
considering it his duty only to fall in love with whoever his parents
should choose for him, and so forth. This interesting conversation was
suddenly interrupted by loud cries issuing from the nursery; and
little Klarika appeared, sobbing out that Peterke had first twisted
her doll's neck, and then threatened to strike her.
"You naughty boy!" said mamma, as the little urchin came sliding in
behind, "where shall I find a rod to punish you with? Is this the way
you behave in your aunt's house? Come here, directly."
Peterke not only would not come out, but retreated under the bed,
looking out from below at dear mamma, and neither threats nor
entreaties could prevail on him to quit his position. Supper was now
announced.
"Just stay where you are," said mamma, "and I shall lock the door till
we return from supper."
The head of the family having entered with his guests, the whole party
proceeded to supper, with the exception of little Peterke, and took
their places round the table, which latter ceremony, however, did not
take place without a good deal of trouble, each person paying
compliments to his neighbour, during which the lady of the house was
obliged to use force to make her guest sit at the head of the table;
while a complete struggle took place at the opposite side between
Uncle Lorincz and Sandor; the former, however, being the stronger of
the two, at last succeeding in placing our nephew beside him.
"You must learn, my dear boy," said Uncle Lorincz, "what the high
sheriff of Bihar taught me while I was his clerk; when I was invited
to my principal's table, and I too pleaded for the lowest place--'Just
sit down where you like,' said the excellent man, 'and rest assured,
wherever that is, it will always be the lowest place.'"
When a blessing had been asked, the savoury gulyas hus[2] was brought
round, the very name of which, even on paper, seems to emit that
delicious flavour which every Hungarian housewife knows so well to
give it.
[Footnote 2: A favourite national dish. It is a stew or hash of beef,
with onions and red pepper, and other spices.]
After the gulyas came the fogas;[3] fortunately the footman carried it
round, otherwise the company would have been obliged to draw lots who
should be helped first. When it came to Sandor's turn, he declined, to
the surprise of every body.
[Footnote 3: A fish said to be peculiar to the Balaton or Platten Lake
in Hungary, and to the Black Sea and the Wolga. It is the _Perca
Lucioperca_.]
"You don't eat fogas?" said Uncle Lorincz, opening his eyes wide.
"Thank you," replied his father for him; "he eats very little in
general."
"Hm! perhaps the boy is particular," thought Uncle Lorincz.--"Well,
there may be something else which he will be able to eat."
Then came a dish of good turos galuska,[4] the crisp pastry smiling
from out of the rich curds and cream, and still hissing on the dish.
[Footnote 4: Balls of pastry in curds.]
"You will eat some of this?" said Uncle Lorincz, turning to his
neighbour, as the dish came round.
"I thank you, I am not hungry; and I have a little headache."
But our nephew was as hungry as anybody else, and had not the
slightest headache. The fact was, he was not accustomed to eat till
after he had been pressed a dozen times, and his plate filled
perforce.
For once, however, there was short work with our nephew's customs; for
Uncle Lorincz, believing what he said, sent on the good turos galuska
with a sigh, admitting it was certainly no cure for a headache; and
consequently Sandor was obliged to keep up the farce during the whole
time of dinner, while his eyes were actually starting from his head
with hunger.
"Drink something, at least, if you do not eat--it will do your
headache good," said Uncle Lorincz, taking up the good Eger[5] wine.
But Sandor would never have forgiven himself had he not snatched aside
his glass as Uncle Lorincz was in the act of pouring out the wine.
[Footnote 5: From Eger or Erlau, a town between Pesth and Tokay.]
"Much obliged," said his father, "but he does not drink wine."
"The tartar! he does not!" exclaimed Uncle Lorincz; "well, he is a
rare child--neither eats, drinks, nor smokes! why, he will be a
millionnaire! I am heartily sorry that you have got a wife for him
already; otherwise I should have asked you to wait until my girl is
marriageable."
Meanwhile there was another individual who followed quite a different
course from that of nephew Sandor, and that was little Peterke.
Finding himself locked in, he first only pettishly came out from his
stronghold, waiting for some one to coax him to come to dinner; but,
finding that the door was locked, and that knives and forks were
actually clattering without him, he took it quite to heart, and began
calling to mamma to let him out.
"Never mind him, let him cry," said mamma, who found this little
episode highly interesting. But the kindly Klarika, when she thought
nobody was observing, hastily concealed a turkey's pinion and a large
piece of apple-tart, and ran off with them to the nursery--contenting
herself with this generous revenge for the havoc done to her
playthings. On this the little urchin became quiet.
When supper was over, the mutual compliments were repeated, during
which Sandor took an opportunity of thrusting into his pocket a roll
of bread, which he had not ventured to touch at dinner.
Aunt Zsuzsi now opened the door with great solemnity, to release the
little delinquent, whom they found dancing about with greasy cheeks,
and holding up in triumph the remains of the turkey's leg.
"Oh, you rascal!" exclaimed mamma, catching hold of him, and wiping
his cheeks; "go directly and kiss your aunt's hand, and beg her pardon
for being so rude."
Peterke slid over, drawing his mouth and nose to one side, as if he
expected that the hand he was ordered to kiss was preparing to give
him a box in the ear; and it was only on being convinced of the
contrary that he resumed his former confidence, and ventured to ask
for another piece of apple-tart, on receiving which he had the
complaisance to show the company, by way of a return, how a large
piece of pastry might be crammed into two cheeks.
Who was enduring greater torment than our nephew Sandor all this time?
Hungry as a wolf, with only a small white roll in his pocket--and how
to eat it! Wherever he went, he was sure to be seen; his only resource
was to wait till everybody went to bed, and then eat it in the dark;
but the two gentlemen, meanwhile, got so deeply engaged in
conversation, that there was no saying when it might end.
At last he summoned up courage to say he would go out a little, and
walk in the garden.
"In the garden!" repeated Uncle Lorincz; "why, it is quite dark, and
the mud is very deep."
"I will sit upon a bench."
"That will be a fine walk--ha, ha, ha!"
"Perhaps the air would do my head good."
"Well, do as you like, my boy; you are at home here."
Sandor, finding himself at liberty, descended to the garden in great
delight. Just below the back window of Uncle Lorincz's apartment,
which looked out upon the garden, stood a winter pear. Uncle Lorincz
thought he heard this tree shaking, and going to the window, he could
distinguish our nephew pulling the unripe pears, and cramming them
into his mouth.
"Well, he is a strange youth!" thought Uncle Lorincz, as he returned
to his seat.
Before retiring for the night, the guests took leave of their kind
hosts--declaring that they must set out at break of day, and would not
disturb them--after which they were conducted to their apartments,
and soon lay buried in the great down feather-beds and snow-white
pillows, with their neat laced and ribboned covers. The coachman had
been desired to harness the horses at four o'clock, and not to awake
anybody; but when our provident guests rose in the morning, they found
the whole household on foot, and a comfortable breakfast prepared, of
coffee, rolls, cold meat, and plum brandy. This time, Uncle Lorincz
gave his bashful nephew no peace until he had actually forced down his
throat all that was eatable and drinkable--seeing that he was in the
habit of being thus treated. When breakfast was over, there was a
mutual interchange of affectionate speeches, and Uncle Lorincz once
more packed up his guests in their cloaks and furs, thrusting a long
cylindrical bottle of plum-brandy into Uncle Menyhert's pocket, while
his wife put a large, fresh-baked cake into Aunt Zsuzsi's hand, and
little Klarika provided the young Sphinx with an ample supply of cold
pastry; and after exacting from their guests a promise to visit them
again on their return, they all took leave--Uncle Lorincz accompanying
them a few miles on horseback, to point out the best road across the
plains.
* * * * *
And now we must beg our readers to draw on their three-leagued boots,
and step into the neighbouring county. Here, too, the roads lie deep
in mud; for the rain continues during seven weeks in these districts,
as it does in the East Indies. Here, too, are villages on the
highroad, and houses with open doors, and travellers hastening towards
them. But now it is question of a house whose doors are shut, and of
travellers who do not stick in the mud.
A handsome carriage, drawn by four spirited grays, was driven by a
young gentleman, while the smart-liveried coachman sat beside him.
The youth was slightly flushed with the exercise: he wore a
low-crowned hat, and light summer dolmany, while his embroidered fur
cloak lay across the seat. Guiding the horses dexterously over the
difficult roads and rickety bridges, he finally turned aside about
half way through the village, and drove rapidly towards a dilapidated
house, before which he was obliged to rein up his horses, as the
_porte-cochère_ was closed.
"Hej! ho!" cried the coachman, leaping from the box, and knocking at
the door.
"Go in at the side-door, and open the _porte-cochère_ yourself, Matyi;
but take the whip with you, or else the dogs will tear you to pieces."
The coachman did as he was desired. No sooner had he reached the
court, than a terrible encounter took place between the dogs and
Matyi, who swore and lashed away with his whip until he had succeeded
in opening the gate.
The tumult brought out a buxom dame, whose appearance betokened
somewhat more than a cook, and somewhat less than the lady of the
house. Standing at the entrance, with her arms a-kimbo, she exclaimed
in a sharp, shrill voice: "What diabolical noise is this, I should
like to know? are the Turks or the French coming, eh?"
Meanwhile, Matyi having opened the _porte-cochère_, the carriage drove
into the gateway; and the young man, leaping from the box, and
throwing the reins to the coachman, stepped up to the dame, who eyed
him askance, with an expression of dried plums, as if doing her best
to make herself as disagreeable as possible to the new-comers.
"Ah! my sweet Boriska," said the young man gaily, "how handsome you
have grown since we last met! I thought you were to be married that
carnival; but I suppose it was premature, eh?"
"Well, you have grown ugly enough yourself, Master Karely, since I saw
you last: you were a pretty child, but I should not have known you
again."
"Thank you, Boriska, dear. Is my uncle at home?"
"Where else should he be?"
"Because I have come to see him, with my mother and sister."
"What! are they here too?" said the dame, fixing her sharp eyes on the
carriage, like a two-pronged fork. "Well, I can't understand how folks
can leave home, and wander abroad for weeks."
"Call my uncle, there's a dear girl, and you can help one another to
scold."
The beauty cast another sour glance at the vehicle, and disappeared
into the kitchen. Karely, meanwhile, opened the carriage door, and the
mud being deep in the gateway, he lifted out the two ladies in his
arms. One was his mother--a calm, ladylike person about forty, with a
sweet, melancholy expression: the other was his sister--a merry,
mischievous looking little fay of about twelve, with bright sparkling
eyes and rosy cheeks, and a constant smile on the never-closed lips.
"Welcome kindly! We will not wait for them," said Karely, laughing, as
he lifted them out and opened the door, which Boriska had shut behind
her.
Our readers having had a slight glance at the travellers, I must
inform them that the lady who has just arrived is Mrs. Erzsebet
Hamvasi, sister of Abraham Hamvasi, to whose house they have come, and
which had been left equally to the lady and her brother by their
parents--although Erzsebet Hamvasi, subsequently Tallyai, had left her
brother in undisturbed possession, only desiring an occasional
reception when _en route_.
As Karely opened the door, Boriska appeared at the farther end of the
room, calling into the stove: "Come out; you have guests here." To
which a voice from within responded: "Let them wait." After a few
minutes, a door opened behind the stove, and a man of spare bent
figure advanced towards the travellers. His face was disfigured by
small-pox, and rendered grotesque by a pair of stiff gray moustaches,
which grew straight forward from under the nose, leaving only the
extremities of the lips visible, and giving him very much the
appearance of an otter. He wore an old stuff coat--too cool for winter
and too warm for summer--the sleeves of which were turned up to the
elbow; for he had just come out of the stove, which he had been
plastering, and both hands were covered with mortar.
To judge by his countenance, he certainly did not seem endeavouring to
look pleased to see his dear relations; and though the lady greeted
him amiably, he did not seem much inclined to open the other side of
the door at which she was standing, waiting for her brother's welcome.
"What! so many of you!" he exclaimed, pushing open the door with his
elbow; "where the tartar are you all going?"
The lady shook her head placedly, and pointing to her brother's dirty
hands--"How now, dear brother!" she said, in a half reproachful and
half jesting tone; "must you really do such work yourself?"
"It is no shame to work," replied her brother; "never trust to others
what you can do yourself."
"I would kiss your hand, dear Uncle Abris, if you would put on
gloves," said Karely, laughing.
"Easy enough for fine gentlemen like you to speak, but a poor man must
do what he can.--Boris! bring me a bowl of water to wash my hands, for
these gentle folks are ashamed to stand in the room with me."
"Dirty the dishes, indeed!" cried Boris sharply; "there is the tub."
Master Abris went and washed in the tub; then, lifting up the
bed-quilt, he wiped his hands and face in the sheet, with so many
grimaces, that it was evident he was undergoing an unusual penance.
The guests meanwhile entered the sitting-room. Every room has its own
peculiar perfume. On entering some apartments an agreeable friendly
odour, which we cannot account for, greets the sense, while others are
so close and so unpleasant that we involuntarily retreat. The
apartment of Uncle Abris was among the latter. The walls were soiled
and daubed with pencil scrawls of several years' standing; there was a
thick carpet of straw and feathers beneath the beds; the furniture was
an inch deep in dust, and it was impossible to see out of the windows,
which had cobwebs in every corner.
The lady sighed deeply as she entered this apartment; one could almost
read on her countenance, that she was recalling brighter days, when
everything in the house looked very different from what it did now.
Uncle Abris, having very coldly kissed each of the party, endeavoured
to smile a little; but not succeeding, he gave it up, and his features
resumed their usual hard, anxious expression.
His guests would gladly have taken off their cloaks, but where should
they put them down? It would have been ruin to clean clothes to come
in contact with anything in the room.
"I should like to sit down somewhere, Uncle Abris," said Sizika,
looking round her with innocent scrutiny.
"Well, my dear, here are plenty of chairs, and a sofa," said Uncle
Abris.
"What! _may_ I brush off all this pretty dust?" asked Sizika
roguishly. "I thought it was put here to dry."
Karely laughed; while his mother put her finger to her lips, and shook
her head; and Uncle Abris answered quietly, "Dust we are, and unto
dust we must return, and therefore we need not despise dust;" and, in
order to strengthen the golden precept, he lifted the flaps of his
coat, and, wiping three chairs for his guests, seated himself on a
fourth.
The lady placed herself down opposite to her brother. One was silent,
the other did not speak; and so they remained nearly an hour.
Occasionally one or other would sigh deeply, "Heighho!" on which the
other would reply, a quarter of an hour after, "Ay, ay!"
Karely having gone out to look at the horses, Erzsike went to the
window, and, wiping one of the panes with her pocket handkerchief,
tried to look through it. You must not be perplexed, dear readers, at
our having first called this merry little fairy Sizika, then Erzsike;
both denominations come from the same source, and there is perhaps no
name in the Hungarian language which admits of so many variations to
represent the various gradations from the utmost refinement to the
greatest coarseness; hence the tender, caressing Siza, the gay,
roguish Erzsike, the robust, noisy Erzsu, and the dirty, untidy Boske.
It never entered Uncle Abraham's head to ask his guests if they wanted
anything; he only sat and sighed. Matyi, the coachman, a smart lad
from Lower Hungary, now entered; he had been a csikos,[6] and was an
inveterate specimen of cleverness and roguish insolence.
[Footnote 6: _Csikos_, who take care of the horses and studs of the
vast meadows or heaths, called _puszta_.]
"Is there any hay to be sold here, sir?" he asked, saluting the master
of the house.
"Hay! hay! for whom do you want hay?"
"Not for myself, sir, but for my horses--that is, not for my horses,
but for my master's."
"Well, let's see; I believe I can give you a little," said Hamvasi,
weighing each word, as he took the key of the barn from his pocket,
and went out. The guests could hear the murmurs of Boris outside the
door:--"The tartar take them all! to come to an honest man's house
with four horses, just that they might devour more hay, as if two were
not enough!"
Master Abraham gave the key to Matyi, making him promise not to drop
any of the hay about, because it was dear; and, after watching till he
had returned, he re-entered, and resumed his seat without speaking.
In a few minutes, Matyi came in again: "Where shall I find a tavern
sir?"
"A tavern! what do you want a tavern for?"
"Not for the horses, sir, but for myself. I want to get a glass of
wine."
"Well, I will give you one just now," said Uncle Abris, and taking the
key of the cellar, he went out, desiring Matyi to wait at the
entrance.
Boriska stormed and dashed about, scolding and holding forth to
herself.
Scarcely had the old gentleman re-entered and silence resumed her
reign, than Matyi appeared a third time: "Boriska wants to know, sir,
what she shall cook for supper?"
"Supper! are you used to sup?" asked Uncle Abris, turning to his
guests.
"That we are," replied Karely quickly, before his gentle mother had
time to say the contrary.
Master Abris sighed deeply, rose and went into the kitchen, whence he
was heard talking in a low voice to Boriska, who, on the contrary,
spoke as loud as possible, so as to be heard in the next room.
"What! that beautiful fowl!--have you lost your senses? I make a fire
now! there is no wood cut. Let them eat cheese, there is plenty of
bread. Indeed I shall not open the pot of preserves--I can't knead
puddings, I've a sore hand. I am not a cook; and why don't you keep
one, if you want to turn innkeeper?"
All this was heard distinctly by the guests within. And now, for once,
Uncle Abris really got into a passion, and, going out to the court, he
struck down a renowned cock with the rolling-pin, and, lighting a fire
himself, he set to work to pluck it, till Boriska, seeing it was in
vain to oppose, snatched the cock from his hands and turned him out of
the kitchen.
In about two hours the banquet was ready. The unhappy cock had been
burnt to a cinder, and his bones were not harder than his flesh. The
half-baked bread stuck to the knife when it was cut, and to the palate
when it was chewed; and the dishes were so full of salt and cayenne
that tears came into the eyes of the eaters.
The lady sat at the head of the table, and scarcely tasted anything;
she sighed deeply on seeing the worm-eaten holes in her dear mother's
table-linen, the well-known knives and forks loosened from their
deer's-horn handles, and the old family plate all bruised and broken.
What may not a man come to who has no wife to keep his house in order!
During supper Uncle Abris, having taken some wine, ventured to break
the silence, and asked his sister whither she was _en route_.
She replied, smiling, that they were going to visit Gabor Berkessy.
"What! to that detestable man!" exclaimed Uncle Abris, somewhat under
the influence of the wine.
"Why is he a detestable man?" asked Karely, half amused, half
annoyed.
"Because when I was a student in Debreczen he informed upon me once
for visiting a tavern. I was punished by twenty-four hours'
confinement, and I have never forgotten it since."
And yet it was good thirty years ago!
"And what are you going there for, if I may ask?" continued Uncle
Abris.
The lady did not answer; on which Siza took up the conversation: "We
are going to look out for a wife. Mr. Berkessy has a daughter who
would just suit my brother."
"Hm!" replied the old man, ungraciously looking over his shoulder at
Karely; "you are still a child."
"That is just the reason we want to get him married," replied Sizike
demurely. "He is a good lad, but somewhat unsteady; when he has a
wife, his understanding will come. And then," she continued, "it is
much better to marry young, than to grow old, and fall into the hands
of some virago."
The child spoke these words with such peculiar gravity, that Karely
could scarce restrain his laughter; her mother shook her head, and
Uncle Abris looked as if he were sharpening his teeth to devour her.
"Hm! you know how to talk at least; can you bake bread too?"
"Oh! that I can, uncle, though I do not know that I could dress the
szalonna[7] for it."
[Footnote 7: Szalonna is a kind of fat which they are fond of eating
with bread in this district; but the same name is applied to the wet
dough which is found in badly-baked bread.]
Uncle Abris saw that he was losing ground, and moved back his chair,
which was a signal to the rest of the party to rise; and, after the
usual ceremonies on leaving table, the guests asked to be shown to
their apartments, whither Uncle Abris conducted them, giving each a
candle, which he begged them to put out as soon as they went to bed.
There were rooms enough in the house, but it was melancholy to see
them. Pease, maize, and onions lay in every corner; and the beds were
just in the condition in which they had been left by the last
occupants.
Karely went to the smaller of the two rooms which had been allotted
them, and in a few minutes he was in bed.
"Dear mamma, we shall freeze here," said little Sizike, feeling the
ice-cold pillows; "what shall we do?" and knocking at Karely's door,
she asked if he were asleep.
"What do you want, Sizike?"
"We cannot undress here, Karely, there are no curtains on the
windows."
"Well, blow out the candle."
"O dear! I am afraid in the dark!"
"Then lock the door."
"The door will not shut properly."
"Well, wait, Boske, I will get up and sleep there, and you can come
here with mother," and, jumping up and out of bed, he dressed and came
into the next room, putting the ladies into his.
"And now confess, Erzsu," he said, trembling with cold; "why did you
cheat me out of my warm bed into this cold one?"
"Because you had warmed it already," replied Erzsike, merrily.
There is nothing gayer than the childish mirth between brother and
sister. Even the mild lady laughed heartily. But it was no easy matter
to get warm, even under feather beds. Such rooms attract the cold all
the winter; and even in summer, if the weather is damp, one is apt to
get chilled and cold. Scarcely had our travellers fallen into an
uneasy sleep, than an inconsiderate cock crew loudly just under their
windows.
"Karely, do you hear the ghost of the cock we ate last night?" cried
Sizike, waking up.
It was out of the question trying to sleep again; and in a short time
they all rose and dressed, feeling in every limb as if they had been
beaten.
There is a great art in making beds. In some beds you fall asleep
immediately on lying down: the pillows, which have been placed out in
the sun, have still the freshness and natural heat which they have
attracted; the mattresses and feather-beds are so skilfully arranged,
that every limb feels at home, and on whichever side you lie, you
awake on it next morning; while in others, turn which way you will,
you can never find a place--now shivering, now perspiring, you try to
sleep, but start up in a fright,--the woodworm gnaws and bores, the
bed creaks and cracks. If at last you do fall asleep, it is to dream
of robbers, and when you awake you cannot turn your head. Strange that
no book has yet been written on this very necessary science!
Our travellers had still a grievous ordeal to go through, and this was
breakfast. They would gladly have avoided it; but Uncle Abris gravely
declared, that having fulfilled his part of the obligation--having
roasted the coffee, and boiled the milk--they must not be wasted. So
they all sat down; and although the coffee was a little burned, and
the milk a little run, and the rolls somewhat stale, no one grumbled;
but, finishing as quickly as possible, prepared to depart. The
carriage then drove up, and Uncle Abraham assisted his guests into it.
He now smiled in good earnest. "They are off at last, and will want
nothing more"--it was easy interpreting his smile. Having kissed them
all, and wished them a prosperous journey, he thought he had passed
all dangers, when Matyi exclaimed: "I quite forgot to drink that glass
of brandy which your honour wanted to give me."
Uncle Abris once more grew pale, and retreating into the parlour, came
out with a glass about as large as a thimble.
"Is this all for me, sir?" asked Matyi, holding up the little glass in
surprise; and having emptied it, he looked round, as if to say, Was
there anything in it?
"Will you have half a glass more?" asked Uncle Abris, with
extraordinary generosity.
"Thank you, sir," replied Matyi; "I am afraid of overturning the
carriage. Bless your honour! bless you, Boriska! we shall be back
again in a week."
It was lucky that the horses now set off, for the party could no
longer contain their laughter. Uncle Abris and Boriska thrust their
heads out of the door, and it was not until the carriage had totally
disappeared from view that they ventured to return into the house.
Boris never ceased scolding all that day. "Is it for this, indeed, one
has relations--that they may come and lay waste the house, while we
are stinting all the year round just to stuff these locusts! The cows
don't eat so much in a week as they used for their horses; and that
little, saucy girl could only make bullets of the good bread, and
throw it about. She will eat it some day though, I'll answer for that,
the delicate dear! And then the work they gave folks!" In fine, good
Mrs. Boriska summed up her complaints by declaring, that if they ever
set foot in the house again she should leave it, and let Master Abris
shift for himself; and then, slamming the door in his face, she left
him to his solitary reflections.
* * * * *
Our readers are by this time aware that there is a certain Gabor
Berkessy who has a marriageable daughter, to obtain whose hand two
marriageable young men are hastening from different parts of the
country, accompanied by their respective families, as beseemed.
We entreat our readers' patience to accompany us once more to a third
county, and then we shall all hasten to Uncle Berkessy's together.
In the capital town of the county of S----, a young widow resided,
called Julia Csalvari. It was the general opinion among the
ill-natured gossips of this town that the fair widow was a great
coquette. The fact is, that Julia, during the few years of her wedded
life, had been kept very strictly by her husband--an old gentleman,
who was miserly, stupid, and jealous in an equal degree; and
consequently, after his death, the restrained feelings of a vivacious
nature burst out the more vehemently. Her husband had left her the
mistress of a considerable fortune, and thus the handsome young widow
found herself surrounded by admirers, who flattered her vanity without
touching her heart. She rode, gave soirées, and frequented balls, and
dressed in great style; all this was enough to make her be spoken of
in the capital town of S----. Besides, an old gentleman who had
formerly been an assessor, who was a sort of uncle of Julia, and lived
with her as protector and secretary, supplied the good neighbours with
constant theme. Everything that occurred in Julia's house was repeated
by him in the noble and bourgeois casinos of S----; even that she
never wore the same pair of silk stockings more than once, and that
she was vaccinated every year! In short, the smallest circumstances,
from love-quarrels downwards, might be procured fresh-hatched every
morning from Uncle Nanasy, who was thus continually getting into
scrapes--at one time running the risk of being called out by one of
his niece's reported admirers, while at another some discarded
cavalier threatened to thrash him; and more than once he was obliged
to remain at home for fear of being shot through the head. And then he
had even more to endure from the fair Julia's caprice than from the
dangers without. But all this did not cure the old gentleman: he
still gossiped as much as he could, denied as much as he could, and
bore the results with wonderful patience.
Julia's relations constantly pressed her to marry, and give up this
sort of life; but Julia was little disposed to exchange her present
freedom. And indeed she was so wilful and capricious, that had she
preferred any one person in particular, she was quite capable of
rejecting his suit, and never seeing him again, if her relations urged
her to marry him. Her marriage was thus put off from year to year; as
soon as anything serious began to be reported, some quarrel was sure
to take place on one side or other, and not unfrequently the whole
affair would pass over, while those most nearly concerned knew nothing
of it.
About the time when our story commences, Uncle Nanasy entered the
kitchen one afternoon to discover what was being cooked, after which
he announced himself to the _dame de compagnie_, to ascertain in what
humour his fair niece was to be found that day; and having satisfied
himself on that point, he entered Julia's room, to tell her all that
had been spoken of in the _cafés_ that morning. He found her at her
toilet; her maid was curling her long golden hair, while she reclined
carelessly in her arm-chair and played with the silken tresses, which
descended to the floor.
"Good morning, my sweet pretty little niece!" lisped Uncle Nanasy,
tripping over to Julia with galopade steps, and seizing her small
hand, which he covered with kisses from the wrist to the tips of the
nails, exclaiming between each one: "Ah, what a dear little hand! how
charming to get a box on the ear from such a soft hand! And how is my
sweet little niece to-day? whose head is she going to turn with these
long ringlets _à l'Anglaise_? Ah, you merciless Penelope! do you know
that a duel took place on your account this very morning? The
handsome Lajos, that dark-eyed youth, got a cut across his forehead,
he, he, he!--he is a lucky man. Let me arrange this ribbon--there's a
love, just through these tresses. See, is it not tastefully placed?
would not Uncle Nanasy make a capital tirewoman?--he, he, he!"
Julia did not wish to laugh at all this nonsense; and turning to her
maid, desired her to bring her shoes.
"No, I shall not allow anybody to bring them but myself!" cried Uncle
Nanasy, holding back the maid, and running to fetch them; then,
kissing them a dozen times, he placed them before her, while Julia
took off her small embroidered slippers, and let Uncle Nanasy put on
her satin shoes, as little embarrassed by his presence as if he had
been her maid. Then rising, she continued her toilette before the
Psyche; while Uncle Nanasy stood by, exclaiming, "How angelic! how
lovely!" until he almost poked his chin out of joint with admiration
and wonder.
"Nanasy bacsi," said Julia gravely, and still looking at herself in
the mirror, "I am going to intrust you with a very serious affair, and
one about which you must not gossip until it has been duly brought
into execution."
"Well, my love; am I not the most trustworthy keeper of secrets?"
Julia frowned. "I am not joking, bacsi; but I tell you seriously, that
if you speak of this affair to anybody before it takes place, I will
tear your hair."
"Nanasy bacsi will be grateful for the favour," said the old
gentleman, pulling off his peruke and holding down his head, which was
as smooth as a water-melon. At this sight, the waiting-damsel burst
into an immoderate fit of laughter; on which her mistress, frowning,
ordered her to leave the room.
Uncle Nanasy tried every means to amuse his niece--put on his wig
awry, opened his snuff-box with a variety of grimaces, performing
pirouettes and courtesies of the _renaissance_ era; but all in
vain--Julia would not laugh.
When they were alone, she shut the doors, seated the old gentleman on
the balzac, and standing before him--"Listen to me now, Nanasy bacsi,"
she began; "I am going to be married."
Nanasy bacsi became all surprise and curiosity.
"You must go to-day," she continued, "to V----, find out the high
sheriff, and get me a dispensation.[8] You need not come back from
there, but go straight on to Pesth, and order all that is requisite
for a wedding--what that is, you know better than I do; arrange
everything for this day week at the latest. I want to have it all over
by that time."
[Footnote 8: A dispensation is required when the marriage is not
proclaimed three times in the church.]
"Depend upon me, my angel--in three days all shall be ready, or you
will hear that Nanasy bacsi is no more."
"You must have my bridal dress made in Pesth, within the shortest time
possible."
"Depend on me, my darling; I shall employ the most celebrated
milliners, Varga or Sovari--and if I do not bring the most magnificent
bridal dress within a week, advertise me in the papers as a stray dog,
for which the lucky finder will receive five florins!"
"Write to my relations at the same time," continued Julia, "and invite
them to the ceremony on this day week; but for this you will have time
enough in Pesth. I have ordered the carriage, and now you have nothing
to do but to get into it and drive off."
"Yes, my dear, I understand; but what am I to say to our relations?"
"Why, what have we been talking about?--that I am going to be
married!"
"Yes, but to whom?"
"Why, is it necessary to know that too?"
"Ha, ha, ha, ha! why, that is the _facit_ of the matter."
"How odd!--well, say Kalman Sos."
"Kalman Sos--Kalman Sos; I have heard the name once before. How do you
spell it--with two _o_'s or two _s_'s?"
"With as many as you like!"
"Who, or what is this fine young man?"
"A poet!" replied Julia, with a grave sigh.
"But what else?"
Julia stared at her uncle, partly in surprise, partly in anger, as if
to say, How simple you old people are! and then, with a disdainful
shrug, she replied, "Fate was generous enough, I think, in bestowing
on him a rich mind, without adding a rich position too."
Nanasy bacsi did not understand this logic, but contented himself by
thus filling up the rubric: Whoever he may be, actor, dancing-master,
or what else, she will certainly be able to manage him.
Julia left the old man to think what he pleased, while she prepared
with her own hands all that was necessary for his journey--not
forgetting his shaving materials--wrote her commissions in a
pocket-book, in which she placed a heap of uncounted notes, and,
thrusting it into Uncle Nanasy's pocket, she assisted him to put on
his great-coat and fur cloak, drew his travelling-cap over his head,
and would not let him breathe until she saw him seated in the
carriage, that he might have no time to betray her secret.
Nanasy bacsi, however, bursting with the importance of his mission,
happened to meet one or two friends as he was passing through the
town, and, thrusting his head out of the carriage, without stopping,
he told the first that his niece was going to be married in a week,
the second, that he was on his way for a dispensation, and the third,
that he was going to Pesth for dresses and confectionary; and, in
about an hour afterwards, the whole town was talking of the secret
marriage, and guessing who the happy bridegroom might be--for Nanasi
bacsi had not told his name, husbanding his news, like all true
gossips, that he might have something new to relate when he came back.
Meanwhile, Julia returned to her room, with the placid conviction of
having arranged all her affairs to satisfaction, and gave orders to
her servants not to admit any person except Kalman.
In a short time the sound of steps echoed along the corridor, and
Julia assumed her sweetest smiles; for our readers are no doubt aware
that, under such circumstances, namely, when one is in love, even the
sound of a boot-heel may be recognised. In this respect, only the
editors of newspapers have a finer instinct--who, it is said, tell,
even from the sound of a step in the street, whether it is the postman
with subscribers or a poet with his verses. In this case the magnetism
was reversed; Julia expected the poet, not the postman, and she was
not deceived--
Kalman Sos opened the door.
He was a pale, interesting youth--not that his paleness alone made him
interesting, but he entered the room as Hamlet is expected to enter
with the skull, and, walking with pathetic steps towards Julia, he
raised the fair lady's hand to his lips, where he held it for a long
time, and would probably have been holding it still, had not Julia
withdrawn it, exclaiming, "Something is the matter, Kalman, that you
are so sad to-day?"
"Sad I am, indeed!" replied the poet.
"For mercy's sake!" exclaimed Julia, in alarm, "what has taken place?"
"Nothing, nothing," replied Kalman, but in a tone which left his fair
bride to surmise the worst; and then, sinking into an arm-chair, he
gazed vacantly before him.
"Yes, yes, there is something the matter with you," cried the lady,
really frightened; "I entreat, I desire you will tell me instantly!"
The poet rose _à tempo_, and once more taking Julia's hand, he gazed
long and earnestly into her eyes. "Do you believe in presentiments?"
he asked at last, in a faltering voice.
"How! Why?"
"Have you never known that feeling, something like a waking dream,
which overtakes us in our gayest hours, as if some cold hand passed
across the brow, and the smile which had risen on the lip dies away;
as if suddenly a magic mirror rose before us, reflecting our own
countenance, but pale and dark, as if warning us not to rejoice?"
"O stop!" cried Julia, on whom these words made an uncomfortable
impression; "it is not right to speak of such things; let us talk
rather of our wedding. Have you heard from your relations yet?"
Kalman assumed a Byronic look, and, turning up his eyes, "You are
happy, Julia," he replied; "ah! you are still a child, and can rejoice
at everything."
"Now, what nonsense, Kalman! you know I am at least five years older
than you are, if not more."
"Ah, Julia! years alone do not constitute time. You are still a child
at eight-and-twenty, while I am an old man at twenty-four. Not he who
is furthest from the cradle is the oldest, but he who is nearest the
grave. It is the weight of days, not their number, that brings
wrinkles. I have suffered as much as would suffice for a life of fifty
years!"
"Poor Kalman!" sighed Julia, laying her fair hand on the poet's
shoulder. Her delicacy prevented her asking what the deuce had caused
him so much suffering; besides, Kalman might have been shocked at
hearing her give utterance to such an expression.
"See!" continued Kalman, "at the very moment when I first beheld your
angel face, and my heart began to burn with the thought that I might
possess you--call you mine for ever--an ice-cold whisper seemed to
say, 'Rejoice not, all is uncertain till the day has come.'"
"But it is certain now," replied Julia, "for I have sent for the
dispensation, and invited my relations; we shall celebrate the wedding
this day week."
"Ha! this day week! do you not know that will be the thirteenth of the
month!"
"Indeed, I did not consult the calendar."
"Ah, Julia! that number has a fearful influence over my fate!"
"Well, let it be the previous day."
"Julia, you speak as securely as if you held the hand of fate within
your own."
"Well, if you wish it, and I have no objection, should I speak
otherwise than of a certainty?"
Kalman raised his finger, and with it his eyes, so that Julia began to
think he had discovered a spider's web hanging from the ceiling, and
was pointing it out to her. "Fate hangs over us," he exclaimed, "and
fate is capricious, Julia; broken hearts and withered hopes are
offerings in which she takes delight. Ah, Julia! you are happy if this
feeling has never breathed across your soul; if within your bosom's
world there are no magic chords on which the hand of prophecy strikes
wildly; it would have banished the roses from your face, as it has
done from mine."
Julia was getting tired of all these unpleasant visions and magnetic
influences; and to give the conversation another turn, she seated
herself at the piano, and began to play a gay fantasia.
Kalman leant his elbow on the back of her chair; his dark countenance
seemed to pierce the future, while his eyes glared, and his hair stood
erect--Julia could observe all this in the opposite mirror. Then,
again, he folded his arms and drooped his head on his bosom, till, no
longer able to bear the excess of his feelings, he started up, struck
his forehead, and exclaimed, in a state of exultation, "Ah! one such
moment were sufficient for life; to hear those sweet accents, and,
hand in hand, heart to heart, expire together, breathing forth our
souls in one long embrace. Julia, do you not desire to die with me?"
"Indeed it will be very nice, when we have both of us reached a good
old age; meanwhile let us live a little while together."
Kalman gazed at Julia with an expression of pity: he felt with pain
how far beneath his own must that mind be, which could not comprehend
the fearful ecstasy of two persons dying together, who have nothing at
all the matter with them. He rose and paced the room several times,
like a wandering spirit who had no other calling than to terrify the
living; then seizing his hat with suicidal determination, he stepped
up to Julia, and exclaimed, in heart-rending accents: "Farewell,
farewell! Heaven grant that my forebodings be not realized!" And then,
tearing himself from her, he rushed out of the room as if in
desperation.
Poor Julia was truly in despair, and fearing she knew not what,
despatched her servant after Kalman, to see that he did not harm
himself; and it was not until the man returned, and assured his
mistress that he had seen the young gentleman in the casino eating
roast-meat and green garlic, that she could at all compose herself.
Julia was occupied all that afternoon by visitors; and, much to her
surprise, she received calls from various persons who had not crossed
her threshold for several years before, who all endeavoured, by hints
and delicate advice, to allude to the secret which she thought was
already twenty miles off--in fact, the whole town seemed perfectly
aware of her intended marriage.
She had now no other resource but to shut herself up in her own
apartment, and to see nobody. Reflecting upon Kalman's late visit, she
reproached herself for her prosaical remarks, which must have ill
accorded with the poet's sublime rhapsodies, and endeavoured to force
on her imagination some of those strange feelings, which she supposed
might resemble the unpleasant sensations caused by a cold in the head,
derangement of the stomach--and having worked herself up to a state of
nervous excitement, she sat down to her escritoire, and began a long
letter to her bridegroom.
As she was in the act of revising a composition which she herself
scarcely understood, her maid entered the room with a letter.
Annoyed at being interrupted, Julia snatched it from her hand, and
glancing hurriedly at the address, recognised Kalman's handwriting.
Seriously alarmed, she held the letter in her hand without daring to
break the seal, in case she should read: "When these lines meet your
eye, the writer will be"--the thought was too horrible! Motioning to
her maid to quit the room, she opened the epistle with a trembling
hand: there were four pages closely written.
"ADORABLE JULIA!--Angel never to be forgotten!--Have you ever seen two
stars so close to one another in the blue vault of heaven, that with
the naked eye you might take them to be but one, and which, ever since
their creation, have been revolving round one another--when suddenly
an unexpected phenomenon takes place: one of these two stars, impelled
by an irresistible power, quits his companion, and rushing forward
through the universe, becomes a comet, whose fate is to wander beyond
the worlds, threatening the trembling stars with destruction." . . . .
Julia's patience was not sufficient to go through four pages of
astronomy, and turning impatiently to the end of the letter, she read
as follows:--
"As my father's wishes in regard to me are iron fetters, which enchain
me like Prometheus to the rock; and since he absolutely insists upon
my marrying the daughter of Gabor Berkessy, pronotarius of the county
of Csongrad, there remains no alternative but to die or--to obey. Were
I to consider myself alone, it were bliss to choose the former. But I
can think of you alone--the despair, the derangement, probably, my
selfishness might cause you; and therefore I live and obey for your
sake, my adorable Julia! for your peace alone; and with tears in my
eyes, and anguish in my heart, trace these few lines, each word of
which is a dagger in the soul of him who can never forget, and lives
alone in your remembrance.
KALMAN SOS."
And these were the fatal forebodings, the mysterious visions! Julia
fell from the stars.
After a moment's brief reflection, however, the fair lady coolly
folded the letter, without deigning it a second perusal, and throwing
it into the fire with the one she had just written, she rang the bell;
then writing a few hurried lines, she sealed the note and handed it to
her maid, saying: "Desire the groom to get a fleet horse instantly,
and ride after Nanasy bacsi to the sheriff's: should he find him
there, he may leave the letter and return; if not, he must go on to
Pesth. My uncle generally lodges at the Golden Eagle; but let him find
him out, and spare no expense."
* * * * *
Uncle Gabor Berkessy was a man of about sixty years of age, with hair
and beard snow-white; but though old in years, he was as young in
spirit and as active in limb as a youth of twenty.
He was the life and soul of every company, without ever offending by
his jests. His anecdotes were celebrated in the country; and when he
began to tell a story after dinner, it was impossible for the company
to keep their seats; and finally, when he himself joined in the laugh,
it might have been heard at the end of the town; for the thundering
peal could only be compared to what a lion's might be, if the
risibility of that mighty king of beasts could be excited. On more
than one occasion, when he had happened to be present at a comedy, the
actors were obliged to stop in the midst of their performance. First
it began slowly--ha! ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! holding his handkerchief to
his mouth, and pretending to cough; until at last, as if a bomb had
burst within him, the fearful sounds would break forth--ha, ha, ha,
ha, ha! tears would roll down his cheeks, he would strike the board
before him with his fist, stamp on the ground, and engage the
attention of all the spectators; so that at last, whenever an actor
heard the first ha! he hurried over whatever was to be said, knowing
that he had no chance afterwards of being listened to at all.
I have descanted rather at length on Uncle Gabor's laughing faculty,
because, according to my theory, if a man can laugh heartily, he must
not only be a good-hearted, but a well-informed man; and as such
Berkessy was acknowledged in all the district. His countenance was a
faithful interpreter of his mind: the jolly round face and laughing
eyes, with their silver lashes; the knolly, flexible brows; the
healthy teeth and red lips; and the expression of goodness, impossible
to mistake, impressed on every feature, gave such a charm to his
countenance, that it was impossible not to feel comfortable in his
vicinity; and even the Christmas Legatus would have taken courage in
his presence.