MAIDENS THREE.
The family banner had scarce been hoisted on to the high tower of the
new castle, the rumour of Mariska's loveliness and her father's millions
had scarce been spread abroad, when the courtyard began to be all ablaze
with the retinues and equipages of the most eminent zhupans,[2]
voivodes,[3] and princes; but Master Michael had resolved within himself
beforehand that nobody less than the reigning Prince of Moldavia should
ever receive his daughter's hand, and stolidly he kept to his
resolution.
[Footnote 2: A Servian Prince.]
[Footnote 3: A Roumanian Prince.]
Now the reigning Prince of Moldavia no doubt had an illustrious name
enough, but he also had inherited a very considerable load of debt, and
what with the eternal exactions of the Tartars, and the presents
expected by all the leading Pashas, and other disturbing causes, he saw
his people growing poorer and poorer, and his own position becoming more
and more precarious every year. He therefore did not keep worthy Master
Michael waiting very long when he heard, on excellent authority, that
there was being reserved for him in Wallachia a beautiful and
accomplished virgin, who would bring to her husband a dowry of a couple
of millions, in addition to an uncorrupted heart and an old ancestral
title.
So, gathering together all the boyars, retainers, and officers of his
court, he set off a-wooing to Rumnik, where he was well received by the
father, satisfied himself as to the young lady's good graces, demanded
her hand in marriage, and, allowing an adequate delay for the
preliminaries of the wedding, fixed the glad event for the first week
after Easter.
Master Michael, meantime, could think of nothing else but how he could
cut as magnificent a figure as possible on the occasion. He invited to
the banquet all the celebrities in Moldavia, Servia, Bosnia, and
Transylvania. He did not even hesitate to hire from Versailles one of
Louis XIV.'s cooks, to regulate the order and quality of the dishes. On
the day of the banquet the good gentleman was visible everywhere, and
saw to everything himself. Quite early, arrayed in the golden caftan,
the heron-plumed kalpag, and the tasselled girdle, he strutted about the
courtyard, corridors and chambers, distributing his orders and receiving
his guests; and his heart fluttered when he beheld the courtyard filling
with carriages, each one more brilliant than its predecessor, escorted
by gold-bedizened cavaliers, from which silver-laced heydukes assisted
noble ladies, in splendid pearl-embroidered costumes, to descend. There
was such a rustling of silk dresses, such a rattling of swords, and such
an endless procession of elegant and magnificent forms up the staircase,
as to make the heart of the beholder rejoice.
Master Michael rushed hither and thither, and pride and humility were
strangely blended on his face. He assured all he welcomed how happy they
made him by honouring his poor dwelling with their presence; but the
voice with which he said this betrayed the conviction that not one of
his guests had quitted a home as splendid as his own poor dwelling.
Then he plunged into the robing-chamber of the bride, where tire-women,
fetched all the way from Vienna, had been decking out Mariska from early
dawn. It gave them no end of trouble to adjust her jewels and her
gewgaws, and if they had heaped upon the fair bride all that her father
had purchased for her, she would have been unable to move beneath the
weight of her gems.
Thence the good man rushed off to the banqueting-room, where his
domestics had been busy making ready two rows of tables in five long
halls.
"Here shall sit the bride! That arm-chair to the right of her is for the
Patriarch--it is his proper place. On the left will sit Prince Michael
Apafi. He is to have the green-embossed chair, with the golden cherubim.
The bridegroom will sit on the right hand of the Patriarch. You must
give him that round, armless seat, so that he cannot lean back, but must
hold himself proudly erect. Over there you must place Paul Beldi and his
spouse, for they are always wont to sit together. Their daughter Aranka
will also be there, and she must sit between them on that little blue
velvet stool. Opposite to them the silk sofa is for Achmed Pasha and
Feriz Beg, recollect that they won't want knife or fork. The Dean must
have that painted stone bench, for a wooden bench would break beneath
him, and no chair will hold him. The three-and-thirty priests must be
placed all together over there--you must put none else beside them, or
they would be ashamed to eat. Don't forget to pile up wreaths of flowers
on the silver salvers; and remember there are peculiar reasons for not
placing a pitcher of wine before Michael Teleki. Achmed Pasha must have
a sherbet-bowl placed beside the can from which he drinks his wine, and
then folks will fancy he is not transgressing the Koran. Place goblets
of Venetian crystal before the ladies, and golden beakers before the
gentlemen, the handsomest before Teleki and Bethlen, the commoner sort
before the others, as they are wont to dash them against the walls. The
bridegroom should have the slenderest beaker of all, for he'll have to
pledge everyone, and I want no harm to befall him. Mind what I say!"
Nearly all the wedding guests had now assembled. Only two families were
still expected, the Apafis and the Telekis, whom Master Michael in his
pride wished to see at his table most of all. He glanced impatiently
into the courtyard every time he heard the roll of a carriage, and the
staircase lacqueys had strict injunctions to let him know as soon as
they saw the Prince's carriage approaching.
At last the rumbling of wheels was heard. Master Michael went all the
way to the gate to receive his guests, shoving aside all the vehicles in
his way, and bawling to the sentinels on the tower to blow the trumpets
as soon as ever they beheld the carriage on the road. The goodly host of
guests also thronged the balconies, the turrets, and the rondelles, to
catch a glance at the new arrivals, and before very long two carriages,
each drawn by four horses, turned the corner of the well-wooded road,
carriages supported on each side by footmen, lest they should topple
over, and escorted by a brilliant banderium of prancing horsemen.
They were instantly recognised as the carriages of the Prince and his
Prime Minister, and the voices of the trumpets never ceased till the
splendid, gilded, silk-curtained vehicles had lumbered into the
courtyard, although the master of the castle was already awaiting them
at the outer, sculptured gate, and himself hastened to open the carriage
door, doffing first of all his ermine kalpag. But he popped it on again,
considerably nonplussed, when, on opening the carriage, a beardless bit
of a boy, to all appearance, leapt out of it all alone, and there was
not a trace of the Prince to be seen in the carriage. Perhaps he had
dismounted at the foot of the hill in order to complete the journey on
foot, as Master Michael himself was in the habit of doing every time he
took a drive in his coach, for fear of an accident.
But the youthful jack-in-the-box lost no time in dispelling all rising
suspicions by quickly introducing himself.
"I am Emeric Toekoely," said he, "whom his Highness the Prince has sent to
your Worship as his representative to take part in the festivities, and
at the same time to express his regret that he was not able to appear
personally, but only to send his hearty congratulations, inasmuch as her
Highness the Princess is just now in good hopes, by the grace of God, of
presenting her consort with an heir, and consequently his Highness does
not feel himself capable of enduring the amenities which under these
circumstances Ali Pasha might at such a time think fit to force upon
him. Nevertheless he wishes your Worship, with God's will, all
imaginable felicity."
Master Michael did not exactly know whether to say "I am very glad" or
"I am very sorry;" and in the meanwhile, to gain time, was turning
towards the second carriage, when Emeric Toekoely suddenly intercepted
him.
"I was also to inform your Worship that his Excellency Michael Teleki,
having unexpectedly received the command to invade Hungary with all the
forces of Transylvania, has sent, instead of himself, his daughter Flora
to do honour to your Worship, much regretting that, because of the
command aforesaid, which will brook neither objection nor delay, he has
been obliged to deny himself the pleasure personally to press your
Worship's hand and exchange the warm kiss of kinsmanship; but if your
Worship will entrust me with both the handshake and the kiss, I will
give your Worship his and take back to him your Worship's."
The good old gentleman was absolutely delighted with the young man's
patriarchal idea, forgot the sour and solemn countenance which he had
expressly put on in honour of the Prince, and, falling on the neck of
the graceful young gentleman, hugged and kissed him so emphatically that
the latter could scarcely free himself from his embraces; then, taking
Flora Teleki, the youth's reported _fiancee_, on one arm, and Emeric
himself on the other, he conducted them in this guise among his other
guests, and they were the first to whom he introduced his daughter in
all her bridal array.
A stately, slender brunette was Mariska, her face as pale as a lily, her
eyes timidly cast down, as, leaning on her lady companion's arm, and
tricked out in her festal costume, she appeared before the expectant
multitude. The beauty of her rich black velvet tresses was enhanced by
interwoven strings of real pearls; her figure, whose tender charms were
insinuated rather than indicated by her splendid oriental dress, would
not have been out of place among a group of Naiads; and that superb
carriage, those haughty eyebrows, those lips of hers full of the promise
of pleasure, suited very well with her bashful looks and timid
movements.
Amongst the army of guests there was one man who towered above the
others--tall, muscular, with broad shoulders, dome-like breast, and head
proudly erect, whose long locks, like a rich black pavilion, flowed
right down over his shoulders. His thick dark eyebrows and his
coal-black moustache gave an emphatically resolute expression to his
dark olive-coloured face, whose profile had an air of old Roman
distinction.
This was the bridegroom, Prince Ghyka.
When the father of the bride introduced the new arrivals to the other
guests, his first action was to present them to Prince Ghyka, not
forgetting to relate how courteously the young Count had executed his
commission as to the transfer of the kisses, which, having been received
with general hilarity, suggested a peculiarly bold idea to the flighty
young man.
While he was being embraced by one after the other, and passed on from
hand to hand so to speak, he suddenly stood before the trembling bride,
who scarce dared to cast a single furtive look upon him, and, greeting
her in the style of the most chivalrous French courtesy, at the same
time turning towards the bystanders with a proud, not to say haughty
smile, pardonable in him alone, said, with an amiable _abandon_:
"Inasmuch as I have been solemnly authorised to be the bearer of kisses,
I imagine I shall be well within my rights if I deliver personally the
kisses which my kinswomen, Princess Apafi and Dame Teleki have charged
me to convey to the bride."
And before anyone had quite taken in the meaning of his concluding
words, the handsome youth, with that fascinating impertinence with which
he was wont to subdue men and women alike, bent over the charming bride,
and while her face blushed for a moment scarlet red, imprinted a
noiseless kiss upon her pure marble forehead. And this he did with such
grace, with such tender sprightliness, that nothing worse than a light
smile appeared upon the most rigorous faces present.
Then, turning to the company with a proud smile of self-confidence on
his face: "I hope," said he, tucking Flora Teleki's hand under his arm,
"that the presence of my _fiancee_ is a sufficient guarantee of the
respect with which I have accomplished this item of my mission."
At this there was a general outburst of laughter amongst the guests. Any
sort of absurdity could be forgiven Emeric, for he managed even his most
practical jokes so amiably that it was impossible to be angry with him.
But the cheeks of two damsels remained rosy-red--Mariska's and Flora's.
Women don't understand that sort of joke.
The bridegroom, half-smiling, half-angry, stroked his fine moustache.
"Come, come, my lad," said he, "you have been quicker in kissing my
bride than I have been myself."
But now the reverend gentlemen intervened, the bells rang, the
bridesmaids and the best men took possession of the bride and
bridegroom, the ceremony began, and nobody thought any more of the
circumstance, except, perhaps, two damsels, whose hearts had been
pricked by the thoughtless pleasantry, one of them as by the thorn of a
rose, the other as by the sting of a serpent.
And now, while for the next hour and a half the marriage ceremony, with
the assistance of the Most Reverend Patriarch, the Venerable Archdeacon,
three-and-thirty reverend gentlemen of the lower clergy, and just as
many secular dignitaries, is solemnly and religiously proceeding, we
will remain behind in the ante-chamber, and be indiscreet enough to worm
out the contents of the two well-sealed letters which have just been
brought in hot haste from Kronstadt for Emeric Toekoely by a special
courier, who stamped his foot angrily when he was told that he must wait
till the Count came out of church.
One of the letters was from Michael Teleki, and its contents pretty much
as follows:--
"MY DEAR SIR AND SON,
"Our affairs are in the best possible order. During
the last few days our army, 9,000 strong, quitting
Gyulafehervar, has gone to await Achmed Pasha's forces
near Deva, and will thence proceed to unite with
Kiuprile's host. War, indeed, is inevitable; and
Transylvania must be gloriously in the forefront of
it. Do not linger where you are, but try and overtake
us. It would be superfluous for me to remind you to
take charge of my daughter Flora on the way. God bless
you.
"MICHAEL TELEKI.
"_Datum Albae Juliae._
"P.S.--Her Highness the Princess awaits a safe
delivery from the mercy of God. His Highness the
Prince has just finished a very learned dissertation
on the orbits of the planets."
The second letter was in a fine feminine script, but one might judge
from it that that hand knew how to handle a sword as well as a pen.
It was to the following effect:--
"MY DEAR FRIEND,
"I have received your letter, and this is my answer
to it. I can give you no very credible news in
writing, either about myself or the affairs of the
realm. A lover can do everything and sacrifice
everything, even to life itself, for his love. (You
will understand that this reference to love refers not
to me, a mournful widow, but to another mournful
widow, who is also your mother.) I do not judge men by
what they say, but by what they do. All the same, I
have every reason to think well of you, and I shall be
delighted if the future should justify my good opinion
of you.
"Your faithful servant,
"ILONA.
"P.S.--I shall spend midsummer at the baths of
Mehadia."
The noble bridal retinue, merrily conversing, now returned from the
chapel to the castle, the very sensible arrangement obtaining, that when
the guests sat down to table each damsel was to be escorted to her seat
by a selected cavalier known to be not displeasing to her. The only
exceptions to this rule were the right reverend brigade, and Achmed
Pasha and Feriz Beg, the two Turkish magnates present, whose grave
dignity restrained them from participating in this innocent species of
gallantry.
First of all, as the representative of the Prince of Transylvania, came
Emeric Toekoely, conducting the aged mother of the bridegroom, the
Princess Ghyka; after him came Paul Beldi, leading the bride by the
hand. Beldi's wife was escorted by the master of the house, and her
pretty little golden-haired daughter Aranka hung upon her left arm.
Feriz Beg was standing in the vestibule with a grave countenance till
Aranka appeared. The little girl, on perceiving the youth, greeted him
kindly, whereupon Feriz sighed deeply, and followed her. The bridegroom
led the beautiful Flora Teleki by the hand.
On reaching the great hall, the company broke up into groups, the
merriest of which was that which included Flora, Mariska, and Aranka.
"Be seated, ladies and gentlemen! be seated!" cried the strident voice
of the host, who, full of proud self-satisfaction, ran hither and
thither to see that all the guests were in the places assigned to them.
Toekoely was by the side of Mariska, opposite to them sat the bridegroom,
with Flora Teleki by his side. Aranka was the _vis-a-vis_ of Feriz Beg.
The banquet began. The endless loving-cup went round, the faces of the
guests grew ever cheerier, the bride conversed in whispers with her
handsome neighbour. Opposite to them the bridegroom, with equal
courtesy, exchanged from time to time a word with the fair Flora, but
the conversation thus begun broke down continually, and yet both the
lady and the prince were persons of culture, and had no lack of
mother-wit. But their minds were far away. Their lips spoke
unconsciously, and the Prince grew ever gloomier as he saw his bride
plunging ever more deeply into the merry chatter of her gay companion,
and try as he might to entertain his own partner, the resounding
laughter of the happy pair opposite drove the smile from his face,
especially when Flora also grew absolutely silent, so that the
bridegroom was obliged, at last, to turn to the Patriarch, who was
sitting on his right, and converse with him about terribly dull matters.
Meanwhile, a couple of Servian musicians began, to the accompaniment of
a zithern, to sing one of their sad, monotonous, heroic songs. All this
time Achmed Pasha had never spoken a word, but now, fired by the juice
of the grape mediatized by his sherbet-bowl, he turned towards the
singers and, beckoning them towards him, said in a voice not unlike a
growl:
"Drop all that martial jumble and sing us instead something from one of
our poets, something from Hariri the amorous, something from Gulestan!"
At these words the face of Feriz Beg, who sat beside him, suddenly went
a fiery red--why, he could not have told for the life of him.
"Do you know 'The Lover's Complaint,' for instance?" inquired the Pasha
of the musician.
"I know the tune, but the verses have quite gone out of my head."
"Oh! as to that, Feriz Beg here will supply you with the words quickly
enough if you give him a piece of parchment and a pen."
Feriz Beg was preparing to object, with the sole result that all the
women were down upon him immediately, and begged and implored him for
the beautiful song. So he surrendered, and, tucking up the long sleeve
of his dolman, set the writing materials before him and began to write.
They who drink no wine are nevertheless wont to be intoxicated by the
glances of bright eyes, and Feriz, as he wrote, glanced from time to
time at the fair face of Aranka, who cast down her forget-me-not eyes
shamefacedly at his friendly smile. So Feriz Beg wrote the verses and
handed them to the musicians, and then everyone bade his neighbour hush
and listen with all his ears.
The musician ran his fingers across the strings of his zithern, and then
began to sing the song of the Turkish poet:
"Three lovely maidens I see, three maidens embracing each other;
Gentle, and burning, and bright--Sun, Moon, and Star I declare them.
Let others adore Sun and Moon, but give me my Star, my beloved!"
"When the Sun leaves the heavens, her adorers are whelmed in slumber;
When the Moon quits the sky, sleep falls on the eyes of her lovers.
But the fall of the Star is the death of the man who adores her--
And oh! if _my_ load-star doth fall, Machallah! I cease from the
living!"
General applause rewarded the song, which it was difficult to believe
had not been made expressly for the occasion.
"Who would think," said Paul Beldi to the Pasha, "that your people not
only cut darts from reeds, but pens also, pens worthy of the poets of
love?"
"Oh!" replied Achmed, "in the hands of our poets, blades and harps are
equally good weapons; and if they bound the laurel-wreath round the
brows of Hariri it was only to conceal the wounds which he received in
battle."
When the banquet was over, Toekoely, with courteous affability, parted
from his fair neighbour, whom he immediately saw disappear in a window
recess, arm-in-arm with Flora. He himself made the circuit of the table
in order that he might meet the fair Aranka, but was stopped in
mid-career by his host, who was so full of compliments that by the time
Toekoely reached the girl, he found her leaning on her mother's arm
engaged in conversation with the Prince. Aranka, feeling herself out of
danger when she had only a married man to deal with, had quite regained
her childish gaiety, and was making merry with the bridegroom.
Toekoely, with insinuating grace, wormed his way into the group, and
gradually succeeded in so cornering the Prince, that he was obliged to
confine his conversation to Dame Beldi, while Toekoely himself was
fortunate enough to make Aranka laugh again and again at his droll
sallies.
The Prince was boiling over with venom, and was on the verge of
forgetting himself and exploding with rage. Fortunately, Dame Beldi,
observing in time the tension between the two men, curtseyed low to them
both, and withdrew from the room with her daughter. Whereupon, the
Prince seized Toekoely's hand, and said to him with choleric jocosity: "If
your Excellency's own bride is not sufficient for you, will you at least
be satisfied with throwing in mine, and do not try to sweep every girl
you see into your butterfly-net?"
Toekoely quite understood the bitter irony of these words, and replied,
with a soft but offensively condescending smile: "My dear friend, your
theory of life is erroneous. I see, from your face, that you are
suffering from an overflow of bile. You have not had a purge lately, or
been blooded for a long time."
The Prince's face darkened. He squeezed Toekoely's hand convulsively, and
murmured between his teeth:
"One way is as good as another. When shall we settle this little
affair?"
Toekoely shrugged his shoulders. "To-morrow morning, if you like."
"Very well, we'll meet by the cross."
The two men had spoken so low that nobody in the whole company had
noticed them, except Feriz Beg, who, although standing at the extreme
end of the room with folded arms, had followed with his eagle eyes every
play of feature, every motion of the lips of the whole group, including
Dame Beldi and the girl, and who now, on observing the two men grasp
each other's hands, and part from each other with significant looks,
suddenly planted himself before them, and said simply: "Do you want to
fight a duel because of Aranka?"
"What a question?" said the Prince evasively.
"It will not be a duel," said Feriz, "for there will be three of us
there," and, with that, he turned away and departed.
"How foolish these solemn men are," said Toekoely to himself, "they are
always seeking sorrow for themselves. It would require only a single
word to make them merry, and, in spite of all I do, they will go and
spoil a joke. Why, such a duel as this--all three against each other,
and each one against the other two--was unknown even to the famous Round
Table and to the Courts of Love. It will be splendid."
At that moment the courier, who had brought the letters, forced his way
right up to Toekoely, and said that he had got two important despatches
for him.
"All right, keep them for me, I'll read them to-morrow. I won't spoil
the day with tiresome business."
And so he kept it up till late at night with the merriest of the topers.
Only after midnight did he return to his room, and ordered the soldier
who had brought the letters to wake him as soon as he saw the red dawn.