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THE GOLDEN AGE IN TRANSYLVANIA
Publisher's Note.
This delightful historical romance by Jokai (pronounced by critics his
best), is published in England under the title of "Midst the Wild
Carpathians." This, the American edition, is printed in a more
readable type, making a volume of one hundred additional pages.
The scene of the story is laid in Transylvania; the time is the close
of the seventeenth century, and the incidents relate to the reign of
Michel Apafi, whom the Turks raised to the throne, ending with the
murder of Denis Banfi, the last of the powerful Transylvanian barons.
The story which has more than simple basis of truth, is absorbingly
interesting and displays all the virility of Jokai's powers, his
genius of description, his keenness of characterization, his subtlety
of humor and his consummate art in the progression of the novel from
one apparent climax to another.
THE GOLDEN AGE
IN
TRANSYLVANIA
BY
MAURUS JOKAI
Author of "Black Diamonds," "Peter the Priest," Etc., Etc.
TRANSLATED BY S. L. AND A. V. WAITE
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
9 and 11 EAST 16th STREET
1898
Copyright 1898
BY
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
_The Golden Age in Transylvania_
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. A HUNTING PARTY IN THE YEAR 1666 7
II. THE HOUSE IN EBESFALVA 32
III. A PRINCE BY COMPULSION 45
IV. THE HUNGARIAN PRINCES IN BANQUET 60
V. CASTLE BODOLA 69
VI. THE BATTLE OF NAGY-SZÖLLÖS 86
VII. THE PRINCESS 107
VIII. AZRAELE 130
IX. THE PRINCE AND HIS MINISTER 143
X. THE LIEUTENANT OF THE ROUNDS 170
XI. SANGA-MOARTA 184
XII. A GREAT LORD IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 215
XIII. THE NIGHT 243
XIV. THE COURT OF JUSTICE IN THE BANQUET HALL 266
XV. THE DIET OF KARLSBURG 279
XVI. THE LEAGUE 297
XVII. DEATH FOR A KISS 308
XVIII. WIFE AND ODALISQUE 325
XIX. THE JUDGMENT 356
THE GOLDEN AGE IN TRANSYLVANIA
CHAPTER I
A HUNTING PARTY IN THE YEAR 1666
Before we cross the Kiralyhago, let us cast a parting glance at
Hungary. I will unroll before your eyes a scene, partly the result of
an adverse fate, partly of a dark mystery, representing joy and also
deep sorrow. An incident of a moment becomes the turning-point of a
whole century.
My soul is saddened by the images thus conjured up; the figures out of
the past blind my sight. Would that my hand were mighty enough to
write down what my soul sees in that magic mirror. May your
impressions, your recollections, complete the scene wherever the
writer fails through weariness.
* * * * *
We find ourselves in the valley of the Drave, in one of those
boundless tracts where even the wild beasts lose themselves. Here are
primeval forests, the roots of which rest in the water of a great
swamp encircled not by water lilies and reed-grass, but by giant trees
whose branches, dropping below the surface, form new roots in the
quickening water. Here the swan builds its nest; this is the haunt of
the heron and all those wild creatures one of which only now and then
marches out into more frequented regions. On the higher ground, where
in late summer the waters ebb, spring such flowers as might have been
seen just after the deluge, so luxuriant and so strange is their
mighty growth out of the slimy mud. The branches of ivy, stout as
grape vines, reach from tree to tree winding about the trunks and
decking the dark maples as if some wood-nymph had garlanded her own
consecrated grove.
When the sun has set, life grows active in this watery kingdom; swarms
of water-birds rise, and with their monotonous, gruesome cries sound
the note of the bittern, the whistle of the turtle, and the four notes
of the swan, now heard only in the land of fable, for there alone
mankind is not; that kingdom still belongs to God.
Occasionally bold hunters venture to penetrate this pathless maze,
making their way among the trees in small boats, often overturned by
the long roots under the water many fathoms deep, although the dark
grass, the yellow marsh flowers and the small dark-red lizard seem to
be within reach of one's hand. Sometimes a thicket bars the way of the
boat, trees never touched by human hand are rotting here heaped
mountain-high thousands of years before. Those trunks that have
fallen into the water have been petrified, and the grasses and vines
have grown over them in such a tangle that they form a strong crust
which sways and bends but does not break beneath the tread. This crust
appears to stretch far and wide, but in reality one step too far
brings death, so that this strange and remote region is but rarely
visited.
On the south flows the Drave, whose rapid current frequently sweeps
away the tallest trees, to the peril of the boatmen. To the north the
forest stretches as far as Csakathurm, and where the swamp ends, oaks
and beeches tower higher and mightier than any in all Hungary.
Throughout this wilderness are wild beasts of every kind; especially
the wild boar that wallows in the swampy ground; and here too the stag
grows to his greatest strength and beauty. In the days that we write
of, the buffaloes roamed through this wilderness, making nightly raids
on the neighboring millet fields, but at the first attempt to catch
them they plunged into the heart of the swamp and were safe from
pursuit.
On the edge of the forest in those days stood a castle of so many
styles of architecture that one must conclude it had been the favorite
hunting-resort of some Hungarian or Croatian noble. The greater part
of the building seemed to be a century older than the rest, in fact
the oldest part was merely a hut of oak logs rudely put together, its
roof overgrown with moss and its walls with ivy and periwinkle; over
the door were the antlers of a patriarchal stag; the later lords must
have entertained a pious regard for its builder or they would have
torn down this hut. On the side toward the woods was a long, barn-like
building of one room, intended for the large hunting parties of later
times; here masters and servants, horses and hounds, staid in friendly
companionship when the bad weather brought them together. Around an
old oak with wide-spreading branches was a strange looking hermitage,
the oak forming its single column of support; the entire hut had been
built of the skulls of boars taken in a single hunt. Finally, on a
hill somewhat higher than the rest, where the trees had been cleared
away stood the most modern building; it consisted of a small, tasteful
hunting-castle, with columns in front, tiled roof, marble terraces,
oriel windows and other features of mediæval architecture. The
bastions near by, begun but left unfinished, the deep moats and the
walls stretching beyond all proportions, seemed to indicate that the
man who had begun the building had intended a stronghold, perhaps
against the Turks. Behind the building were still to be seen two long
culverins and a stout iron mortar with a Turkish inscription that
threw some light on their origin; but the times and the spirit of the
times had changed, and later comers had built a Tusculan villa upon
foundations intended for a fortress.
On one of the brightest days of the year in which our story begins, a
large hunting party was stirring at the castle. Hardly had the sun
sent his first rays through the dense trees when the boys of the
stable and kennel led out the horses and the hounds straining at the
leash and bounding to the shoulders of their keepers in their excited
anticipation. Long wagons, drawn by six to ten oxen, had already gone
to the meet to bring back the game. The villagers summoned to the
chase, variously armed with axes, forks, or occasional guns, were
divided into groups by the hunters. Some peasants, in parties of twos
and threes, carried on their shoulders boats hollowed from the trunks
of trees, to drive back the game if it escaped to the swamp. Men and
beasts alike showed signs of haste and impatience; only a few of the
older men took the time to sit over the fire and cook their bacon. At
last the hunting-horn sounded from the castle yard, the company sprang
with shouts of joy upon their snorting horses; the restless, yelping
pack dragged their keepers this way and that; the hunters armed
themselves,--in short, everything was ready and waited only for the
lords and ladies. In a few moments a group of riders came down the
hill attended by the squires; in front rode a tall, muscular man, the
lord of the castle; the rest seemed involuntarily to have fallen
behind him. His broad shoulders and well-rounded chest were of
Herculean strength; his face was burned by the sun and showed no trace
of age; his close-trimmed beard and heavy moustache gave his
countenance a martial aspect, and the Roman nose and coal black, bushy
eyebrows added to his features an imperious look, though the
melancholy curve of the lips and the delicate oval of the blue eyes
lent a certain poetic expression to his knightly countenance. A round
cap with an eagle's feather covered his short hair; he wore a plain,
shaggy coat unfastened, beneath which showed a white dolman of
deerskin ornamented with silver; at his side hung a broad sword in
ivory sheath, and from his studded girdle of red shone the pearl
handle of a Turkish dagger. Next him rode a young knight and a
youthful Amazon; the knight could count scarcely twenty years and the
lady looked still younger. Two people better suited to each other
could not be found. The young man had pale, gentle features and rich
chestnut hair curling on his shoulders; a small moustache barely
covered his upper lip, his blue eyes wore a constant smile of
carelessness, if not frivolity, and had not the strong sinews of his
arm shown under his close-fitting sleeves one would have taken him for
only a fanciful boy; on his head he wore a marten cap with a heron's
feather and his garments were of silk; from his shoulder hung a
magnificent tiger skin, its claws serving for buckles joined by a
sapphire clasp. He rode a coal-black Turkish horse with housings
embroidered in gold, some woman's delicate handiwork.
The Amazon, to whom the youth seemed to be whispering many a sweet
word, formed a complete contrast to him; she had an earnest, fearless,
lively countenance; her eyes were brighter than garnets; she loved to
curl her lip and draw down her fine, thick eyebrows, giving to her
face an expression of pride, then when she glanced up again and parted
her lips with a spirited smile, you might see a heroine indeed. Her
dark braids hung over her shoulders half their length and then were
looped back under her cap of ermine with its waving plume. She wore a
silk riding habit fitting closely to her slender figure and falling in
heavy folds over the flanks of her Arab horse. Figure and face called
for homage rather than love; no smile played over these features, her
great, dark, fathomless eyes rested many a time upon the youth as he
bent toward her, shedding a rare charm, a fulness of love, a nobler,
higher longing which means more than love, more than ambition, which
is perhaps the self-consciousness of great souls who have a hint of
their eternal fame.
Behind this beautiful pair rode two men whose dress indicated their
high rank; one about thirty years old, the other a pale, elderly man
with dress simple to affectation. It is worth while to mark this man's
face, for we shall often meet him; cold dry features, thin blonde hair
and beard mixed with grey, a pointed cleft chin, scornful pale lips,
quick watery blue eyes with red rims, jutting eyebrows, a high bald
shining forehead which with every change of feeling was wrinkled in
all directions. This face we may not forget. The rest--the Herculean
rider, the smiling youth, the stately girl,--will hurry past us like
fleeting pictures which come only to go; but this last will accompany
us throughout the entire course of events, ever appearing only to cast
down or to build up, to determine the fate of great men and lands. The
bald head moved nearer to the knight at his side who was testing his
lance as if for a throw, and said to him in an undertone, evidently
continuing a conversation:
"So, then, you Transylvanians will not have anything to do with this
affair?"
"Let me have a rest from politics to-day," answered the other,
starting impatiently. "You have got so that you cannot live a single
day without intrigues, but I beg of you, spare me to-day. To-day I
wish to hunt, and you know how passionately I love the chase."
With these words he spurred his horse forward, and joined the stately
knight.
Thus rebuffed, the older man bit his lips in vexation, then turned
with a smile to the youthful knight riding before him.
"A glorious morning, gracious lord; would that our horizon were as
bright in every direction."
"Would that it were," answered the youth, without really knowing what
it was to which he was replying, while the beautiful Amazon leaned
over and said to him:
"I don't know why it is but I cannot place any confidence in that man.
He is forever putting questions and never answers any himself."
Just then the stately rider came up with the group of hunters,
acknowledged their loud greetings and stopped in their midst.
"David," he called to an old grey-bearded hunter who came forward, cap
in hand, "put your cap on. Have the drivers of the game all taken
their places?"
"Every man is in his place, gracious lord. I have already sent boats
to the swamp in case the beasts are frightened back there."
"You think of everything. Now start with the men and hounds and follow
the road that we usually take; we alone are enough for the road I have
in mind, we will go straight through the forest."
At once a murmur of astonishment and incredulity arose among the
hunters.
"Beg pardon, gracious lord," said the old man, with his cap again in
his hand, "I know the way, and no God-fearing man should make trial of
it; the impenetrable undergrowth, the deep water and slimy ground
threaten with a thousand perils; and besides, straight through the
forest goes the wide devil's gorge that no human being with horse has
yet crossed."
"We shall get over, my good fellow. We have already been through more
difficult places. No bad luck befalls the man who follows me; you know
yourself that fate favors me."
The hunter obediently made ready to march forward with the rest. At
this moment the bald head rode to the noble's side.
"Gracious lord," he said, quietly, not to say sarcastically, "I
consider it a great calamity for a human being to imperil his life for
a mere brute, especially when he has urgent need of that life, but
your grace has made the decision and I know it will be carried out.
Still, have the goodness to look about you for a moment and remember
that we are not all men here; there is a delicate lady in our midst,
and to expose her to death for the sake of our adventure is surely
want of tenderness."
During this speech the knight did not look at the older man but gazed
fixedly at the young Amazon, and the glow of pride on his cheeks was
brighter as he saw how calmly the stately lady measured with her eye
her unbidden protector, and with what proud self-reliance she took her
lances from her page, chose one, and sharpening the point on her
pommel, assumed the position of a true matadore.
"Look at her," cried the knight, "do you feel any anxiety for this
girl, my niece?"
These words of the knight echoed loudly; there was no voice like his,
deep as thunder and carrying far.
The young Amazon allowed the knight who had called her his niece to
put his arm about her and kiss her blushing cheek, for in those days
the Hungarian woman still blushed even if the kiss came from a
kinsman's lips.
"Is it to no purpose that she sprang from my blood? shall she not
match the best man in fearlessness? Have no anxiety for her, she will
face greater dangers than these and bring her husband to them too."
With these words the hero put spurs to his horse; the startled
creature reared and plunged but the hard knees of his rider brought
him under control.
"Follow me," he cried, and the brilliant company vanished in the
thicket of the forest.
* * * * *
Let us arrive there before them. Let us hurry to the place where the
stags take their noonday rest in the shady grove, where the turtles
sun themselves and the herons bathe. What dwellings are these in
groups of fives and sixes between the water and the wilderness--these
huts built up on piles with round roofs clay-covered and bound with
twigs? Who built this dam, and for what purpose, so that the water at
the entrance of their dwellings should never fail? Here dwell the
dear, industrious beavers whom Nature has taught the art of building.
This is their colony. These thick beams they have hewn with their
teeth. They have shaped all this,--they have dug down into the earth
to build a dam, and year after year they keep this dam in repair. See,
at this very moment comes one gliding out from the lowest story of his
dwelling below the water; with what a gentle eye he looks around him;
as yet he has never seen a human being. But let us go back to the day
of the hunt. In the shadow of an old hollowed tree was resting a
family of deer--stag, doe and little fawns. The stag had stepped into
the sunlight where he might see his own shadow; his stately form
seemed to please him; he licked his bright coat, scratched his back
with his branching antlers and walked proudly, stepping high with a
certain affectation; the movements of his slender figure were marked
by the play of his muscles. The doe lay lazily in the muddy sedge; at
times raising her beautiful head, her great dark eyes full of feeling,
she gazed at her companion or at the sporting fawns; if she noticed
that they were too far away she gave a certain restless moaning cry,
at which the lively creatures would hasten to her, tumbling over each
other, leaping and bounding about the mother, never an instant quiet,
their limbs quivering and every movement quick and graceful. Suddenly
the stag stood fixed. Scenting danger he gave a cry and lifted his
nose; his nostrils dilated as he snuffed the air, pawed the ground and
ran restlessly about, angrily shaking his antlers; again he stood
still and his wide-opened eyes showed instinctive fear; he ran to his
precious doe and with unspeakable tenderness they put their two heads
together,--they too have a language in which they understand each
other. The two fawns fled to their mother, their slender legs
trembling. Then the stag with long, noiseless stride, made his way
into the forest. The doe remained licking her trembling fawns, who
returned the motherly caresses with their little red tongues. At every
noise she raised her head and pricked up her ears; suddenly she
bounded into the air; she had heard something hardly perceptible to
human ear; far, far away there was a sound in the forest; hunters know
this sound well--the chase had begun. The doe cast restless glances
about her, then quietly lay down; she knew that her mate would come
back and that she must wait for him. Nearer and nearer came the
chase. Soon the stag came noisily back and turned with a peculiar
sound to his mate, who at once sprang up and with her young fled
straight across the line of chase. The stag stood still for a moment,
digging up the ground with his antlers, either with rage or to efface
the traces of his mate's lying there. Then he stretched his neck and
barked loudly in imitation of the hounds, to lead them on a false
scent; a trick often observed by hunters. He then bounded away,
tossing his antlers, and followed the doe. Ever nearer came the chase;
with the barking of dogs was heard also the cracking of the underbrush
and the shouts of the hunters. The forest became alive: the startled
hares and foxes ran among the trees in every direction to escape the
cries of the men. Now and then a fox fled in haste to a hole, only to
bound back again frightened by the fiery eyes of the badger. Among the
timid hares a grey striped wolf stood forgetful of his thirst for
blood; switching his tail he looked about him for some possible escape
and ran howling on, driven by the nearing voices.
Yet no one was hunting these poor creatures--a greater quarry was the
game,--a stag with mighty antlers.
The hunting net was drawn closer and closer, already the dogs were on
the track and the horn gave a signal that they were near the stag.
"Hurrah, hurrah!" rang out from afar. The hunters coming from the
opposite direction halted and blocked the way. The noise of the
pursuers came rapidly nearer. Suddenly, a peculiar noise was heard;
the two deer with their young broke through the bushes and
disappeared; between them and the hunters was a wide ravine; the noble
quarry leaped like lightning over the tree trunks lying in the way,
and at last reached the ravine. Before and behind were the hunters,
but the pursuit from behind was more terrible; there were the knight,
the fearless Amazon and the eager hunter. The stag bounded across the
broad ravine without the slightest effort, raising both feet at once
and throwing back his head; the doe too made ready for the leap but
her young shrank back from the edge; then the doe gave out, her knees
sank, her head drooped, and she stayed with her young. A lance hurled
by the Transylvanian hunter pierced her side. The wounded creature
gave a distressed cry, like the wail of a human being only more
terrible. Even her murderer in his pity did not venture to approach
her until her struggles were over. The two fawns stood sorrow-stricken
by their mother and allowed themselves to be taken alive. Meanwhile
the stag, already across the ravine, dashed wildly toward the hunters
before him, who blocked his way, and tossed his heavy antlers in fury.
The hunters knew the courage born of despair which comes to these
animals otherwise so timid, and throwing themselves to the ground,
gave him free pass. Only a few hounds ran after him, but the maddened
creature tossed them on his antlers and leaving them to roll on the
ground in their blood, plunged on to the swamp.
"After him," roared the knight with thundering voice, and galloped at
full speed to the ravine over which the stag had fled.
"May the Lord help him," screamed those on the other side, in terror;
but the next moment their terror was turned to shouts of joy, for the
horse with his bold rider was over. Of the entire company only two
ventured to follow, the stately Amazon and the delicate youth. The two
horses made the leap in the same moment; the lady's habit swelled out
like a pennant in the breeze and she glanced backward as if to ask if
any man had so much courage. The rest of the company considered it
advisable not to try the bold leap, except Nicholas, the
Transylvanian, who made a dash although his horse had already hurt his
hind foot in the woods and the huntsman might have been very sure that
he was not equal to the leap.
Fortunately for the rider, just before the spring his saddle-girth
gave way and he fell on the edge of the bank, while the horse just
reached it with his forefeet, and tumbling, fell into the depths of
the ravine. The three riders were alone in their pursuit of the
fleeing stag which, once out of the circle, led his followers on to
the bog. The knight went first. The Amazon and her comrade followed by
a sweeping détour through the tree trunks; just as they were on the
edge of the bog, there suddenly appeared snorting before them two wild
boars;--they had come into the lair of these beasts which had been
deaf to everything around them as they lay in the reeds and mud, only
noticing the newcomers when the young man's horse trampled to death
two young ones rubbing themselves against the old sow. The rest of the
young scattered into the sedge while the old ones, with threatening
growls, turned upon the intruders. The sow plunged blindly at the
youth, while the boar stood still a moment, his bristles raised and
ears pointed. He leveled his tusks and, with deep grunt and blood-shot
eye, charged at the maiden. The young man hurled his lance from a safe
distance at the sow; the whizzing weapon struck into the hard skull of
the creature, the point piercing to the brain. The sow ran like a
monstrous unicorn, the lance still sticking in her skull, but her eyes
had lost the power of sight and she passed the rider and fell without
a sound at a little distance. The maiden waited calmly for the raging
boar; seizing her lance with her left hand she aimed its point
downward and held her bridle firmly. The noble horse stood quiet
against his raging opponent, pricking up his ears, and with a turn of
his neck kept his eye on the boar so that just as the tusk would have
entered the side, the trained animal bounded away, and at the same
moment the Amazon bent over and hurled her lance deep between the
shoulder-blades of the boar. The creature, wounded to the death, sank
down with a groan, but made one more onset at the maiden, when the
youth sprang like lightning from his horse and dealt him a final blow
with his sword. Just then from afar was heard the sound of the horn;
the other riders who, by making a long circuit, had now overtaken the
leaders, greeted the heroes of the day, the knight, the Amazon and the
youth, with loud huzzas. The strongly-built man was bespattered with
mud and the others did not look much better. Only the riding habit of
the lady was without spot and without rent. Even in such circumstances
as these, ladies know how to take care of their clothes. When the
knight saw the monster that his niece had laid low, looking larger
than ever now that it was stretched out in death, he appeared like one
just realizing the peril to which his darling had been exposed, and
cried out in terror, "My dear Helen!" Then he took her hand with a
smile and glanced at the bystanders with triumph.
"Did I not tell you that she was of my blood?" Every man hurried
forward to compliment the brave heroine, who on this occasion seemed
to experience that extraordinary pleasure peculiar to the lucky
hunter.
"Nicholas, my son, do the boars grow as large as that in
Transylvania?"
The Transylvanian, already somewhat out of sorts from his recent
accident, could not let this pass without denying that there was
anything in Hungary better worth having than Transylvania could
produce, so he answered sulkily, "Yes, indeed, and even larger." No
reply possible could have so angered the knight as this;--to say to an
excited hunter that there is better game anywhere than that he has
just praised; and still more, that had been laid low by his own
darling.
"Good, my son, good," growled the knight, "it remains to be seen."
With undisguised signs of annoyance on his countenance he turned aside
from the ill-natured Transylvanian and gave orders to have the game
carried back to the hunting castle. On the way thither he spoke no
word except to his dear one, whom he flattered and extolled to the
very heavens.
* * * * *
It was already late in the afternoon when the hunters sat down to
their meal. The simple but appetizing food had been arranged on a
large grassplot in the middle of the forest; wine and joy thawed out
their spirits and they talked of this and of that, of the war and of
the chase, of beautiful women and of poesy, which at that time was in
great favor among the upper circles. But in spite of the merry
conversation the knight could not keep from asking, in a tone of
reproach, "So, then, there really is better game in Transylvania?"
until the repeated question became irksome to the young man, who had
not intended his reply to be taken with such seriousness.
The bald head saw the situation and attempted to give another turn to
the conversation by taking up his beaker and proposing this
toast;--"May God put the Turks in good spirits."
The knight in his vexation overturned his glass and replied angrily,
"That He shall not! I have not grown old fighting against them to turn
round now and pray for them. He is a fool who changes only to find a
new master."
"The Turk is a gracious master for us," said the young man, with an
ambiguous smile.
"Didn't I say so? With you, even the Turks are finer and greater than
with us. So it is; in Transylvania everything is better than it is in
Hungary; the boars are larger and the Turks are smaller than with us."
While they were talking the old huntsman David approached his master
and whispered in his ear. The features of the knight lighted as by
magic, and springing from his seat he cried,
"Give me a gun."
Seizing his silver-mounted rifle, with a happy expression he said to
his guests:
"Just stay here, there is a colossal boar near by. You shall see him,
my son," he said, touching Nicholas on the shoulder. "Twice already
have I given him chase, but this time I will have him. He is the
genuine descendant of the Calydonian boar."
With that the knight directed his steps in eager self-forgetfulness
toward that part of the forest pointed out by the huntsman, whom he
commanded to turn back, for he would have no one with him.
"I do not know why it is," whispered Helen to the youth at her side,
"but I feel as if I had cause to fear some peril threatening my
uncle." The youth rose without a word and took his rifle. "Do not
follow him," called out the Transylvanian when he noticed this move,
"you would only anger him. Never fear, he will do it alone. A man that
has wiped out entire armies of Tartars will surely be able to manage
an unreasoning beast." And in this way the young man was held back at
the very moment of departing. The men went on drinking and the maiden
continued with her thoughts, from time to time glancing anxiously
toward the forest. Suddenly there was a shot heard in the forest; all
set down their glasses, and looked expectantly in that direction. A
few moments later came the cry of a boar in pain; not the sound of a
boar at the point of death, but the rattling sound of an interrupted
struggle.
"What's that?" each asked of another.
"Surely he would call if he were in peril."
With that came a second shot.
"What's that?" all shouted, and sprang to their feet. "Up! Up!" cried
the maiden, trembling in every limb, and the entire company hurried in
the direction of the shot.
* * * * *
The knight had gone only a few steps into the forest when he came upon
the boar at the foot of a great oak. It was a monstrous boar with long
black bristles on his back and forehead; his skin like iron lay in
thick folds on his neck and his feet were long and sinewy. He had dug
himself a litter in the brush, where he now lay. Where he had laid his
monstrous head he had torn up by the roots shrubs as thick as one's
arm. When the monster heard the steps of a man he raised his head,
opened wide his jaws and looked sidewise at his opponent. In order to
get a better aim the knight had dropped on one knee, and shot through
the sedges at the beast just at the moment when he raised his head.
Instead of hitting the skull the ball entered the creature's neck,
wounding but not killing him. The wounded animal sprang up, and in his
charge at the knight struck his crooked tusks together so that the
sparks flew. Such a furious attack might easily have been avoided by a
spring to one side, but the knight was not the man to avoid his
antagonist. He threw down his gun, tore his sword from its scabbard,
stood face to face with the boar and dealt a blow at his head which
might have cleft it through and through; but the dangerous stroke fell
on the tusk, and upon this, hard as stone, the sword was broken in two
at the hilt. Stunned by the blow the boar, though he plunged at the
knight with his tusks, inflicted only a light wound in his thigh, at
which the man seized the animal by the ears with both hands and a
furious struggle began. Without weapon he fought the beast which
turned its head with grunt and groan, but the steel-like grasp of the
man held his broad ears with irresistible might and when the creature
raised himself on his hind legs to throw his opponent, the knight with
giant strength gave him a push and threw him over backward. True, he
fell too as he did so, but he was on top and raising himself up,
pressed down the wild beast struggling in vain against his superior
strength, and seated himself in triumph on his belly. The boar seemed
to be entirely conquered. His glazing eye grew dim, blood streamed
from jaws and nose, he had ceased to roar and made only a rattling
sound; his legs contracted, his nose hung down; in a few moments he
must certainly die. The knight should have called to his comrades,
only a little way off, or kept quiet until the boar bled to death, but
this took too much time. He remembered that he had in his girdle a
Turkish knife and he thought to put a quick end to the struggle, so he
pressed down the head of the boar with one knee, that he might be able
to spring when he drew out his knife at his side, and with one hand
seized his girdle. Just then, a shot was heard in the forest; the
overmastered boar, feeling the pressure of hand and knee lightened,
with his remaining strength threw the knight off and dealt one last
blow with his tusk. This blow was fatal--it tore the man's throat.
The guests and relations hurrying to him, found the hero dying beside
the dead boar. With cries of sorrow they strove to bind his terrible
wound.
"It is nothing, my children, nothing," said the knight, even then
dying, and he was gone.
"Poor knight!" said the bystanders.
"My poor fatherland," cried Helen, raising to heaven her eyes heavy
with tears.
The day of rejoicing was changed to one of mourning; the hunt to a
funeral feast. In sorrow the guests attended the corpse of their best
friend back to Csakathurm. Only the bald head took another direction.
"That is just what I said," he muttered to himself, "one needs his
life for something more. Well, what matters it? there are still people
elsewhere; I'll go to the next country."
* * * * *
So died Nicholas Zrinyi, the younger, the greatest writer and the
bravest fighter of his fatherland. So died the man, who had been the
favorite of fortune, the darling of his country, its protection and
its glory. In vain would you look now for the hunting-lodge or the
castle;--all is gone--the name, the family of the hero, even his
memory. The general and the statesman have fallen into oblivion; one
part only of the man is left, one part only lives forever,--the
writer.