CHAPTER I.
SIXTY MINUTES.
The post-prandial orator was in the midst of his toast, thechampagne-foam ran over the edge of his glass and trickled down hisfat fingers, his lungs were expanded and his vocal chords strained tothe utmost in the delivery of the well-rounded period upon which hewas launched, and the blood was rushing to his head in the generousenthusiasm of the moment. In that brilliant circle of guests every manheld his hand in readiness on the slender stem of his glass andwaited, all attention, for the toast to come to an end in a finaldazzling display of oratorical pyrotechnics. The attendants hastenedto fill the half-empty glasses, and the leader of the gypsy orchestra,which was stationed at the farther end of the hall, held hisviolin-bow in the air, ready to fall in at the right moment with aburst of melody that should drown the clinking of glasses at the closeof the toast.
At this point the family physician entered noiselessly and whispered afew words in the ear of the hostess, who was presiding at the banquet,and who immediately rose and, with a mute gesture of apology to thoseof the guests who sat near her, withdrew from the room. Meanwhile theorator continued:
"May that honoured man who, like a second Atlas, bears the burden ofour country on his shoulders, whom all future ages will reverence asthe type of true patriotism, who is the leader of our party's forcesin their march to victory, and whom we all regard as our light-givingpharos, a tower of strength to our side and the bulwark of our cause,though at present he is unfortunately unable to be with us inperson,--may he, I say, live to enjoy renewed health and strength andto bear forward the banner of his party for many, many years to come!"
The final words of this peroration were drowned in a storm of cheers,an outburst of music, and the confused din caused by the pushing backof chairs and the dashing of wine-glasses against the wall, while theguests fell into one another's arms in an ecstasy of enthusiasm.
"Long life to him!" they cried; "may he live a thousand years!"
He to whom the assembled company wished so long a life was therenowned and honoured Baron Casimir Baradlay, lord lieutenant of hiscounty, the owner of large estates, and the leader of a powerfulparty. The high dignitaries assembled about his hospitable board hadgathered from far and near to determine upon a programme which shouldensure their country's welfare for the coming years. As a fittingclose to this important conference, Baron Baradlay was treating hispartisans to a banquet in the great hall of his castle, and in theunavoidable absence of the host himself his wife was presiding at thefestive board. The administrator, however, Benedict RideghvAiry, hadtaken the absentee's place at the conference.
At the close of the toast, when those near the head of the tableturned to touch glasses with the hostess, her absence was noticed, andthe butler who stood behind her empty chair explained that thephysician had just entered and whispered something in the lady's ear,whereupon she had left the room. Probably, said he, her husband hadsent for her. Upon this information a number of the guests madeanxious inquiry whether their honoured host was seriously ill; and theadministrator hastened to reassure all present, as far as his voicecould reach down the long table, by telling them that it was merely areturn of the baron's chronic ailment. Some of the better-informedsupplemented this announcement by explaining to their neighbours thatthe gentleman had, for perhaps ten years, been subject to frequentattacks of heart-failure, but could nevertheless, by observing veryregular habits, be expected to live for another ten years or more.
Therefore, as it was only one of his habitual attacks, all joined inwishing their honoured host many, many years of life and happiness.The family physician, however, had whispered in the wife's ear thesefour words: "Only sixty minutes more!"
"I have been waiting for you," said the husband, as his wife enteredthe sick-room, and the words sounded like a reproach.
"I came as soon as I could," returned the other, as if in apology.
"You stopped to weep, and yet you knew my time was short. Let us haveno weakness, Marie. It is the course of nature; in an hour I shall bea senseless form; so the doctor told me. Are our guests enjoyingthemselves?"
A silent nod was the reply.
"Let them continue to do so; do not disturb them, or hasten theirdeparture. Having assembled for a conference, let them remain for thefuneral banquet. I have long since determined upon all the details ofthe burial ceremony. The funeral anthem will be sung by the DebreczenCollege chorus--no opera music, only the old psalm tunes. Thecustomary addresses will be delivered by the superintendent, in thechurch, and by the sub-dean, in the house, while the local pastor willrepeat the Lord's Prayer over the grave, and nothing more. Have youfollowed me carefully?"
The wife was gazing abstractedly into vacancy.
"I beg you, Marie," urged the speaker, "to bear in mind that what I amnow saying I shall be unable to repeat. Have the goodness, then, to beseated at this little table by my bed, and write down the directions Ihave just given, and also those that I am about to add. You will findwriting materials on the table."
The baroness did her husband's bidding, seating herself at the littletable and writing down what had just been told her. When she hadfinished the patient continued as follows:
"You have been a true and faithful wife to me, Marie, ever since ourmarriage, and have obeyed all my commands. For an hour longer I shallcontinue to be your lord and master, and the orders that I give youduring this hour will furnish you occupation for the rest of yourlife. Nor shall I cease after my death to be your lord and master. Oh,my breath is failing me! Give me a drop of that medicine."
The wife administered a few drops in a little gold teaspoon, and thepatient breathed more freely.
"Write down my words," he continued. "No one but you must hear them orsee them. I have performed a great work which must not perish with me.The earth is to pause in its course and stand still; or, if the earthas a whole will not stop, yet our small portion of it must do so.Many there are who understand me, but few that know how to follow outmy designs, and still fewer that have the requisite courage. I havethree sons who will take my place when I am dead. Write down, Marie,what my sons are to do after my death. They are all too young toassume their duties at once. They must first be trained in the schoolof life, and, meanwhile, you will be unable to see them. But don'tsigh over that; they are big boys now, and are not to be fondled andpetted any longer.
"My eldest son, A-dA?n,[1] is to remain at the court of St. Petersburg;it is a good school for him. Nature and disposition have too longfostered in him an ardent enthusiasm which can bring no good to ourstock, and of which he will there be cured. The Russian court is agood training school, and will teach him to distinguish between menborn with certain inherited rights, and those born with no rightswhatever. It will teach him to stand on the heights without feelingdizzy, to recognise the true rights of a wife in the eyes of herhusband, to cast aside all foolish youthful enthusiasm, and, upon hisreturn hither as a man, to grasp the rudder from which my hand hasfallen. You are to supply him with money enough to play his partworthily among the young nobles of the Russian court. Let him drainthe cup of pleasure to the dregs. Leave him to his extravagances. Togain the serene heights of indifference, a young man must first sowhis wild oats."
[Footnote 1: The vowel _A?_ is sounded much like _oe_ in _Goethe_. _J_, as in _JenA?_, is pronounced like _y_. In pronouncing other Hungarian proper names in the book, let it be noted that _a_ is sounded nearly like _o_ in _not_; _Ai_ like _a_ in _far_; _e_ like _e_ in _met_; _A(C)_ like _a_ in _fate_; _o_ like _o_ in _whole_, but somewhat shorter; _A cubed_ like _o_ in _hole_; _cz_ like _ts_; _s_ like _sh_; _sz_ like _s_ in _soft_; _g_ is hard; _gy_ is sounded like _dy_ in _would you_. The stress of voice is on the first syllable in every case, though less pronounced than in English. For typographical reasons the diA|resis has been substituted for the double acute accent; the latter gives the same sound to the vowel over which it is placed as the former, only lengthened.]
&n
bsp; [TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: The double acute accent in the name JenA' and in the title _A KA'szA-vA+- Ember Fiai_ has been restored in this electronic edition. An examination of the original Hungarian text found no other instances where the diA|resis was substituted for the double acute.]
The speaker paused to look at the clock, which admonished him tohasten, as time was short and there was still much to say.
"That young girl," he continued, "on whose account he was sent awayfrom home, you must try to marry to some one. Spare no expense. Thereare men enough suitable for her, and we will provide the dowry. Shouldthe girl prove obstinate in her resolution, you must endeavour tobring about her father's removal to Transylvania, where we have manyconnections. A-dA?n is to remain abroad until the family has moved awayor he himself has married. The matter need not, I think, cause you anyanxiety. My second son, Richard, will remain a month longer in theroyal body-guard; but it offers no opening for a career, and he willleave it for the cavalry, where he is to serve a year, after which hemust seek an appointment on the general staff. Skill, valour, andfidelity are three excellent aids to a man in making his way upward,and all three are developed by service. There are victories yonderwaiting to be won, and my son is to take the lead. There will be warin Europe when once the earthquake begins, and a Richard Baradlay willfind work enough ready to his hand. His fame shall cast its glory overus all. He must never marry: a wife would only be in his way. Let hispart be to promote the fortunes of his brothers. What an excellentclaim for their advancement would be the heroic death of their brotheron the battle-field! But you are not writing, Marie. Surely, you arenot weeping? I beg you to overcome such weakness, as there are onlyforty minutes left, and I have yet much to say."
The wife mastered her feelings and wrote on.
"My third and youngest son, JenA', is my favourite; I don't deny that Ilove him best of the three; but he will never know it. I have alwaystreated him harshly, and you too must continue so to treat him. Lethim remain at Vienna in the civil service and make his way upward stepby step. The struggle will give him address, shrewdness, andfruitfulness of resource. Let him learn to supplant others by dint ofsuperior intelligence and amiability, and to take all possible painsto please those whom he is afterward to use as ladders for his ownupward progress. Do not spoil him with tender treatment at home, butlet him learn to adapt himself to strangers and judge of their worth.His ambition must be fostered, and an acquaintance cultivated withpowerful and influential men that shall lead to valuable familyconnections."
A momentary distortion of the patient's features bore witness to hisacute suffering. It lasted but a second, however, when the noble willovercame the weakness of the flesh and enabled the speaker to continuehis dying instructions.
"Three such strong supports--a diplomat, a soldier, and a highgovernment official--will uphold and preserve the work of my hands.Alas! why could I not have continued my task a little longer, untilthey were farther advanced in their careers? Marie, my wife, I beg andmost solemnly adjure you to obey my behests. Every muscle in my bodyis wrestling with death, but my thoughts are not now upon that finaldissolution which must so soon overtake me. This cold sweat on my browis not caused by the death-agony, but by the fear lest all my paststriving shall have been for naught, lest the work of a quarter of acentury shall be buried with me. Ah, Marie, if you but knew how myheart pains me! No, no more medicine; that cannot help me. Show me mysons' pictures; they will bring relief."
The baroness brought three miniature likenesses and held them beforeher husband's eyes. The man with the heart of stone looked at them,one after the other, and his sufferings abated. He forgot his deathpangs, and pointing with his wasted forefinger at the portrait of theeldest, he whispered: "He will be most like me, I believe." Then,waving aside the three miniatures, he continued, coldly: "But nosentimentality now! The time is short and I shall soon be gathered tomy fathers and leave to my sons what my ancestors left to me. But myhouse will remain as the fortress and defence of true principles.Nemesdomb will live in history as the centre and focus of our nationalpolicy. And you, too, will remain after I am gone."
The writer looked up inquiringly.
"You look at me as if to ask what a woman, a widow, can effect in atask under which a man broke down. I will tell you. Six weeks after mydeath you are to marry again."
The pen fell from the woman's hand.
"That is my command!" continued the stony-hearted man sternly; "and Ihave chosen a husband for you in advance. You will give your hand toBenedict RideghvAiry."
At this the wife could no longer contain herself. She left thewriting-table, sank down upon her knees by the bedside, seized herhusband's hand and wet it with her tears. The patient closed his eyesand sought counsel in the darkness. He found it.
"Marie," said he, "do not give way in that manner; it is now no timefor tears. My orders must be obeyed. You are young yet,--not fortyyears old. You are beautiful and will not lose your beauty.Twenty-four years ago, when I married you, you were not a whit fairerthan you are to-day. You had raven-black hair and bright eyes, and youhave them yet. You were gentle and modest, and you have not lost thosevirtues. I have always loved you warmly, as you well know. In thefirst year of our married life my eldest son, A-dA?n, was born; in thenext year my second son, Richard; and in the third my youngest, JenA'.Then God visited me with a severe illness, and I have ever since beenan invalid. The doctors said I was doomed, and that a single kiss fromyour beautiful lips would kill me. And so I have been wasting away forthe last twenty years at your side like a condemned criminal. Beforeyour eyes the bloom of my life has withered away, and during all thistime you have been merely a dying man's nurse. I have dragged out myexistence from day to day, possessed by a great purpose which aloneenabled me to retain the breath of life in my body amid the mostgrievous tortures. Oh, what a life it has been,--a life bereft ofevery pleasure! Yet I endured it, denying myself everything for whichother men live. I lived simply for the sake of the future, a futurewhich I wish to be, for our country, the perpetuation of the past. Forthat future I have reared my sons, for it I have spent my strength,and in it my name will live. On that name now rests the curse of thepresent, but it will be glorified by the radiance of the future. It isfor that name, Marie, that I have suffered so much. But you must liveto enjoy yet many years of happiness."
The wife sobbed in mute protest against his commands.
"It is my will," cried the man, and he snatched his hand from hergrasp. "Go back to the table and write. 'This is my dying command: sixweeks after my death my wife is to marry Benedict RideghvAiry, who isthe man most worthy to follow in my footsteps. Only thus shall I resteasily in my grave and enjoy peace in heaven.' Have you written that,Marie?"
The pen slipped from the writer's fingers; she buried her face in herhands and remained silent.
"The hour is fast going," stammered the dying man, struggling againstthe approaching dissolution; "but _non omnis moriar_. The work that Ihave begun will survive me. Marie, lay your hand on mine and leave itthere until mine begins to stiffen. No foolish sentimentalism, notears! I will not let you weep now. We shall not take leave of eachother: my spirit will remain with you and never leave you. Everymorning and evening it will demand of you an account how you havedischarged the duties I have laid upon you in this my dying hour. Ishall be near you constantly."
The woman trembled from head to foot, but the dying man folded hishands calmly and murmured in broken accents: "The hour is nearly gone.The doctor was right: I no longer feel any pain; everything grows darkaround me, only my son's pictures are still visible. Who is thatcoming toward me out of the darkness? Halt! Advance no farther; I haveyet more that I must say."
But the grim spectre's approach was not to be stayed; it laid itsinvisible hand over the dying patient's face, and the powerful manwith the heart of stone succumbed to a force mightier than himself. Hevoluntarily closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, not callingupon any one to help him die, as do ord
inary weak mortals; but proudlyand unshrinkingly, as becomes a nobleman, he surrendered his great,indomitable soul to the master jailer, Death.
When the baroness saw that her husband was dead, she fell upon herknees by the table and, folding her hands upon the written page beforeher, stammered forth: "Hear me, Lord God, and be merciful to hisforsaken soul, as I now vow to be merciful and to execute the veryopposite of all the wicked commands he has with his last breathenjoined upon me. This is my fixed resolve, O God, and I pray Thee inThine infinite power to help me."
A cry, unearthly and terrible, rang out on the sepulchral stillness ofthe room. The startled woman threw a look of horror at the dead formstretched out upon the bed. And see! his closed lips had parted, hiseyes had opened, and his right hand, which had been folded in his leftupon his breast, was raised toward his head.
Perhaps the departing soul had been overtaken in its flight by thekneeling woman's vow, and had turned back to reA"nter its mortaltenement and protest with that one fearful cry against the violationof its commands.