OLYMPIAN STRIVINGS
[Footnote 22: This chapter is somewhat condensed.]
It was Petöfi who introduced me to my associates of the "Table of Public
Opinion" (as the long table close to the counter in the Café Pillwax was
called), and who got me a place there. "This is a true Frenchman!" said
Petöfi, as he presented me to his young army of _literati_ who were
assembled there. In those days this was the highest conceivable praise.
The face of every liberty-loving nation was turned towards France, and
from thence we expected the dawn of the new era. We read nothing but
French books. Lamartine's "History of the Girondists" and Tocqueville's
"Democracy" were our bibles. Petöfi worshipped Beranger, I had found my
ideal in Victor Hugo.... This school might easily have become dangerous
to us had not its influence fortunately coincided with the opening up of
a new and hitherto unexplored field--popular literature. Hitherto it had
been the endeavour of Hungarian writers to write in a style which was
distinct from the language of ordinary life. Our group, on the other
hand, started the idea that it was just those very constructions,
expressions, and modes of thought employed in every-day life that
Hungarian writers ought to take as the fundamental principle of their
writing; nay, that they should even develop the ideally beautiful,
poetry itself, from the life of the common people.... As belonging to
this camp of ours I must also reckon Sigismund Czakó, who acclimatized
the modern drama to our stage with marked success; and finally Anthony
Csengery, the editor of the _Pesti Hirlap_, who wrote nothing in the way
of _belles lettres_ himself, but whose immense erudition and thorough
knowledge of literature enabled him to exercise a most beneficial
influence over the whole of our group. Amongst our older writers also,
Vörösmarty and Bajza watched over us with stimulating encouragement; but
it was Ignatius Nagy in particular who befriended us, and of him I have
the most pleasant recollections.... At this time he was a cripple. He
was rarely to be seen in the street, and then only on his wife's arm. He
stopped at home all day at his writing-table, writing those life-like
sketches of the little world of Buda-Pest which testify to such a serene
good-humour. The first time I saw him was when I went to speak to him
about my novel, "Hétköznapok." He had a most embarrassing face covered
with dark-red spots right up to his astonishingly lofty forehead, whose
shiny baldness was half cut in two, as it were, by a bright black
peruke. He had also an inconceivably big red nose, at which, however,
you had no time to be amazed, so instantly were you spell-bound by a
couple of squinting eyes, one of which glared as fixedly at you as if it
were made wholly of stone. His voice, on the other hand, was as the
voice of a sick child. And within this repulsive frame dwelt the noblest
of souls, in this crippled body the most energetic of characters. From
no strange face did I ever get a kinder glance than I got from those
stiff fishy eyes, and that sick voice announced to me my first great
piece of good news. Upon his recommendation, the publisher Hartleben
agreed to publish my first romance, and gave me for it 360 silver
florins. In those days that was an immense fortune to me. I had no
further need to go scribbling all day long in a lawyer's office at six
florins a month. And his fatherly solicitude for me went still further.
He introduced me to Frankenburg as a dramatic critic. The editor of the
_Eletképek_ had just parted with his dramatic critic (he had been a
little too unmerciful to the artistes), and was looking out for a new
colleague. By way of honorarium he offered me a free seat at the
theatre, and ten florins a month. But my year of office came to an end
the very first week. To make amends for the sins of my predecessor, I
lauded every artist to the skies, according to the dictates of my
youthful enthusiasm. And I can honestly say that I wrote it all from my
very heart. It was then that I saw a ballet for the first time in my
life. It was my solemn conviction that I was bound by a debt of
gratitude to the excellent damsel who exhibited her natural charms to
the public eye with such magnanimous frankness. And a pretty lecture
Frankenburg read me for it too! "Delightful Sylphid indeed! A clumsy
stork, I should say!" Still, _that_ might have passed. But it was my
magnifying of Lilla Szilágyi who took the part of Smike in the _Beggars
of London_ which did the business for me. I said of her that she was "a
lovely sapling!" and promised her a brilliant future in her dramatic
career. "Leave her where you found her! She has got no heart that's
certain!" said the editor. "Then she'll get one!" said I. "But you'll
never get to be a critic," said he.
And so, for Lilla Szilágyi's sake, I laid down my _rôle_ of critic, and
yet I was right after all, for, as Madame Bulyovszky, she really did
become a great artiste. Now, however, I bless my fate that things fell
out as they did. Terrible thought: fancy if I now only had the
reputation of a famous--critic!
A few days after that, a new career suddenly opened before me. Paul
Királyi invited me to join his newspaper, the _Jelenkor_, as a
correspondent. He offered me a salary of thirty-five florins a month. Of
course I jumped at it. Newspaper writing was a very grateful task in
those days. The paper appeared thrice a week. That was quite sufficient
to give us all the news. It is different now. Nowadays more murders,
suicides, and burglaries occur in the twenty-four hours than occurred in
a whole twelvemonth then.
And a newspaper contributor was then a personage of some importance. Let
me give an example:--
I lived with the dramatist, Szigligeti. In the summer we occupied a
whole flat in a brand-new house in Pipe Street, and there I had a room
of my own, with an exit opening on the staircase. The other flats were
empty. The Szigligetis flitted during the summer to the suburbs of Buda.
Thus I had the whole of the first floor of the new house at my disposal,
to my great satisfaction, for I could work away quite undisturbed. In
the autumn, however, the Szigligetis returned, and the adjoining flats
at the same time got new tenants. The very next night I discovered, to
my horror, with whom I was living under the same roof. It was the wife
of the possessor of a flower-garden, who also kept a dancing academy.
What afternoons, what nights I passed!
At last I could stand it no longer, and I implored Szigligeti to appeal
most energetically to the authorities against the nuisance. Szigligeti
fully shared my indignation himself, so he posted off at once to the
Town Captain to lay his complaint.
"Sir," said he, "the proprietress of a flower-garden has settled down in
my immediate neighbourhood."
"But flowers must bloom somewhere, I suppose?"
"But the people dance the livelong night."
"That doesn't injure any one, surely?"
"But after dancing they sit down to rest."
"That is very natural."
"But they take their rest and recreation very noisily."
The Town Captain shrugged his shoulders, he could do nothing in the
matter; it was a ticklish business to interfere in; it did not fall
within his jurisdiction, etc., etc.
But when, finally, Szigligeti said: "My lodger, the correspondent of the
_Jelenkor_, cannot sleep all night because of them," then, indeed, the
Town Captain suddenly leaped from his chair, set all his myrmidons in
motion, and by the next day the whole flower-garden and dancing academy
was transferred to another forcing bed. Such in those days was the
authority of a newspaper correspondent.... I was therefore no longer a
mere cipher. I was a something now. And, more than that, I was a
somebody also. For it was in those days that I passed my legal
examination, and became a certificated lawyer in the ordinary and
commercial courts. My diploma, indeed, was not _præclarus_, but at any
rate it was _laudibilis_. The oral _rigorosum_ I passed through
brilliantly, but in the _scripturistik_ (there's a fine dog Latin word
for you!) my _Hungarian style_ was not considered satisfactory.
The publication of my legal diploma in the county court was a
sufficiently dignified excuse for a visit to my native town. With head
erect I could now enter the presence of the fairy damsel with the
sparkling "eyes like the sea."