THE FADING OF FLOWERS.
And now let us see what became of Aranka and Feriz.
At last they were beneath one roof together--this roof was a little
better than the roof of a tomb, but not much, for it was the roof of a
dungeon. They could only see each other through a narrow little window,
but even this did them good. They were able to press each other's hands
through the iron bars, console each other, and talk of their coming joys
and boundless happiness. The walls of the prison were so narrow, so
damp, the narrow opening scarce admitted the light of day; but when the
youth began to talk of his native land, Damascus, rich in roses, of
palm-trees waving in the breeze, of warm sunny skies, where the
housetops were planted with flowers, and the evergreens give a shade
against the ever-burning sun, at such times the girl forgot her dungeon
and fancied she was among the rose-groves of Damascus, and when the
youth spoke of the future she forgot the rose-groves of Damascus and
fancied she was in heaven.
Days and days passed since the departure of Dame Beldi, and there were
no news of her. Every day the spirits of the girl declined, every
evening she parted more and more sadly with Feriz, and every morning he
found it more and more difficult to comfort her. And now with great
consternation the youth began to perceive that the girl was very pale,
the colour of life began to fade from her round, rosy cheeks, and there
was something new in the brightness of her eyes--it was no earthly
light there which made him tremble as he gazed upon her. The youth durst
not ask her: "What is the matter?" But the girl said to him:
"Oh, Feriz! I am dying here; I shall never see your smiling skies."
"I would rather see the sky black than thee dead."
"The sky will smile again, but I never shall. I feel something within me
which makes my heart's blood flow languidly, and at night I see my dead
kinsfolk, and walk with them in unknown regions which I never saw
before, and which appear before me so vividly that I could describe
every house and every bush by itself."
"That signifies that thou wilt visit unknown regions with me."
"Oh, Feriz, I no longer feel any pleasure in those lands of yours, nor
am I glad when I think of your palms, and as often as I see you darkness
descends upon my soul, for I feel that I am going to leave you."
"Speak not so, joy of my existence. Grieve not God with thy words, for
God is afflicted when the innocent complain."
"I am not complaining. I go from a bad into a good world, and there I
shall see you in my dreams."
"But if this bad world should become better, and you lived happily in
it?"
Aranka sadly shook her pretty, angelic head.
"That it is not necessary for this world to grow better you can see from
the fact that the good must die while the wicked live a long time. God
seeks out those that love Him, and takes them unto Himself, for He will
not let them suffer long."
Feriz shuddered. What could have put these solemn, melancholy thoughts
into the heart of this girl, this child? It was the approach of Death,
the worm-bitten fruit ripens more quickly than the rest. Slow, creeping
Death had seized upon the childish mind and made it speak like the
aged--and sad it was to listen to its words.
"Cheer up," said Feriz, with an effort, skimming with his lips the
girl's white hand which she thrust out to him through the bars. "Thy
mother will soon be here; thy father will sit on the throne of the
Prince as he deserves; thou wilt be a Princess, and I will strive and
struggle till I am high enough to sue for thee, and then I will lay my
glory and renown at thy feet, and thou shalt be my bride, my queen, my
guardian angel."
The girl shook her head sorrowfully.
"And we will walk along by the banks of the quiet streams in those
ancient lands where not craft but valour rules, where the wise are only
learned in the courses of the stars and the healing virtues of the
plants, not in the science of the rise and fall of kingdoms. There from
the window of my breeze-blown kiosk, which is built on the slopes of
Lebanon, thou wilt view the whole region round about. Above, the
shepherds kindle their fires in the blackness of the cedar forests;
below, the mountain stream runs murmuring along, and all round about us
the nightingale is singing, and what he singeth is the happiness of
love. In the far distance thou seest the mirror of the great sea, and
the white-sailed pleasure boat rocks to and fro on the transparent
becalmed billows, and the moon looks down upon the limitless mirror, and
a fair maiden sits in the pleasure-boat, and at her feet lies a youth,
and both of them are silent, only a throbbing heart is speaking, and it
speaks of the happiness of love."
A couple of tears dropped from the eyes of the girl--the future was so
seductive--and that picture, that fair country, she did not seem to be
regarding them from the earth, it seemed to her as if she was looking
down upon them from the sky and regretting that she was forced to
leave--the beautiful world.
Aranka adored her father. The man who was respected for his virtues by a
whole kingdom was the highest ideal of his child. When Feriz began to
speak of him, the girl's face brightened, and at the recital of his
heroic deeds the tears dried up in her flashing eyes; and when the youth
told her how the great patriot would return, glorious and powerful,
supported by the mightiest of monarchs, and how he would throw open the
prison doors of his children and be parted from them no more, then a
smile would gradually transfigure the girl's face, and she would feel
happy. And then she would steal apart into her own dungeon, and kneel
down before her bed, and pray ardently that she might see her father
soon, very soon.
And she was to see him before very long.
Paul Beldi's body was now six feet deep in the ground, and his soul a
star farther off in the sky--to see him one must go to him.
Paler and paler she became every day, her waking moments were scarcely
different from her dreams, and her dreams from her waking moments. The
provost-marshal now had compassion on the withered flower, and allowed
it on the sunny afternoons to walk about on the bastions and breathe the
fresh air. But neither moonlight nor fresh air could cure her now.
Frequently she would take the hand of Feriz Beg and press it to her
forehead. "See how it burns, just like fire! Oh, if only I might live
till my father comes. How he would grieve for me!"
Feriz Beg saw her wither from day to day, and still there was no sign of
liberty. The youth used frequently to walk about the courtyard half a
day at a time, like a lion in a cage, beating the walls with his
forehead at the thought that that for which he had been striving his
whole life long, and the possession whereof was the final goal of his
existence, was drawing nearer and nearer to Death every hour, and no
human power could hold it back!
The wife of the provost-marshal, a good, true woman, nursed the rapidly
declining girl. Medical science was then of very small account in
Transylvania; the sick had resort to well-known herbs and domestic
remedies based on the experience of the aged; they trusted for the most
part to our blessed mother Nature and the mercy of God.
The worthy woman did all she could, but her honest heart told her that
the arrival of Aranka's father, and the sooner the better, would do more
good than all her remedies. That would transform the invalid, and joy
would give her back her failing vital energy.
Feriz Beg had not been able to speak to Aranka for two days; the girl
had suffered greatly during the night, and Feriz was condemned to listen
to the moaning of his beloved, and to hear her in the delirium of fever
through the prison windows without being able to go to her, without
being able to wipe the sweat from her forehead, or put a glass of cold
water to her lips, or whisper to her words of comfort, and had to be
content with knowing that she was with those who carefully nursed her.
Oh, it is not to the dying that death is most bitter.
By the morning the fever left her. The rising sun was just beginning to
shine through the narrow round window and the sick girl begged to be
carried out into the open air and the warm morning sunshine. She was no
longer able to walk by herself, and they carried her out on to the
bastions in an arm-chair.
It was a beautiful autumn morning, a sort of transparent light rested
upon the whole region, giving a pale lilac blue to the sunlit scene.
Where the road wound down from the Szekler hills a light cloud of dust
was visible in the morning vapour; it seemed to be coming from the
direction of Szamosujvar.
"Ah! there is my mother coming!" whispered Aranka, with a smiling face.
The young Turk held his hand before his face and fixed his eagle eyes in
that direction; and when for a moment the breeze swept the dust off the
road, and a carriage on springs drawn by five horses appeared, he
exclaimed with a beating heart:
"Yes, that is indeed the carriage in which they took away thy mother."
Aranka was dumb with joy and surprise; she could not speak a word, she
only squeezed Feriz Beg's hands and fixed her tearful eyes upon him with
a grateful look.
The carriage seemed to be rapidly approaching. "That is how people
hasten who have something joyful to say," thought Feriz, and then he
began to fear less boundless joy might injure the life of his darling.
Soon the carriage arrived in front of the fortress and rumbled noisily
over the drawbridge. Aranka, supported by the arm of Feriz, descended
into the courtyard. They pressed onward to meet the carriage, and the
smile upon her pallid face was so melancholy.
The glass door of the carriage was opened, and who should come out but
Kucsuk Pasha.
There was nothing encouraging in his look; he said not a word either to
his son or to the girl who clung to him, but the castellan was standing
hard by, and he beckoned to him.
"In the carriage," said Kucsuk, "is the prisoner for whom I left my son
as an hostage; take her back, and look well after her, for she is very
ill."
Dame Beldi lay in the carriage unconscious, motionless.
Aranka, paler than ever and trembling all over, asked:
"Where is my father?"
Kucsuk Pasha would have spoken, but tears came instead of words and ran
down his manly face; silently he raised his hand, pointed upwards, and
said, in a scarce audible voice: "In Heaven!"
The gentle girl, like a plucked flower, collapsed at these words. Feriz
Beg caught her moaning in his arms, she raised her eyes, a long sigh
escaped her lips, then her beautiful lips drooped, her beautiful eyes
closed, and all was over.
The beloved maiden had gone to her father in Heaven.