Eyes Like the Sea — 09 - Chapter 8, part 2

"Next day the wounded honour of the offended husband resorted to still stronger measures: six _pandurs_[39] appeared upon the scene with swords and pistols.

Peter and I were outside in the pastures.

Thither they came after us.

But Peter was not a bit put out.

He hastily called together his young shepherds; there were four of them; they caught up their cudgels, and the four sheep dogs took the same side.

The six _pandurs_ never dreamt we should tackle them.

The corporal of the _pandurs_ threatened to fire if we offered the least resistance.

I immediately rushed forward in front of Peter, and said to them, 'Very well!

there you are!

Fire!'

There was a pretty rumpus, the dogs began to bark, and at last even the stolid steers got mad, and the big old bull rushed out of the herd and charged straight at the _pandurs_, who were thronging round the herdsman.

They took to their heels straightway, and those who did not leave their shakos behind them might think themselves lucky."

[Footnote 39: County police.

] "Why, that was quite an epic poem!"

"Wasn't it!

But you haven't heard the end of it yet.

After the repulse of the second assault, Muki began to carry on the war in grim earnest.

One evening, our maid, who had been sent out as a spy, came back with the terrifying news that his honour had sent out orders that on the following day all his tenants were to assemble in the courtyard of the castle armed with cudgels, flails, and pitchforks; to his huntsmen and heydukes also he had distributed guns and ammunition.

The whole of this host was to advance upon us in battle array on the morrow.

It would have been well, perhaps, to have fled before them while there was yet time.

But we did not fly."

"Then what was the end of it all?"

"A very droll ending indeed.

When the danger was greatest, good luck sent a deliverer, a good friend, just as usually happens in happily-constructed dramas, who intervened with a mighty hand and diverted the stroke from our heads."

"And who was this good friend?"

"Why, who else but the bearer of this fine blonde beard!"

cried she, with an ironical smile, caressing my chin.

"I?

Why, I was not in that part of the country at all."

"Ah!

but poets have long arms, you know.

At the very moment when Muki was placing firearms in the hands of his peasants, freedom was proclaimed at Pest.

The rumour spread throughout the kingdom like wildfire--the Revolution had broken out.

They say in Pressburg that Petöfi and you were on the Rákos[40] at the head of 40,000 peasants, and that a new Dózsa[41] war had begun.

The retainers of Muki also thronged up to his castle, not to carry me off by force, but to demand their liberties.

'We'll work no more!'

they cried; 'we'll pay no more tithes, and no more hearth-money.'

[42] Freedom had broken out with a vengeance!

Muki was thereupon so terrified that he fled incontinently through the back door in the clothes of his lackey, and never stopped till he was safely out of the kingdom.

I have heard nothing of him since.

So you see your mighty hand turned aside the danger that was hovering over our heads.

We drank your health afterwards in big bumpers."

[Footnote 40: A plain to the east of Pest, where, from the earliest times, elective assemblies were held.

] [Footnote 41: George Dózsa, the leader of the Hungarian _jacquerie_ of 1514, who was finally captured and executed after truly infernal torments.

] [Footnote 42: _Füstpenz_--lit.

, smoke money, so much on each chimney.

] I certainly had never calculated upon success of this sort.

"Well," said I, "you have certainly disposed of Mr. János Nepomuk Bagotay for a time (though I would call your attention to the fact that he will not be very long in perceiving that there is no Dózsa war in Hungary, and will then return with reinforcements), but may I ask what her ladyship your mother says to all this?"

"I should have come to that, even if you had not asked me.

In fact, this is the very thing which brings me to you.

One fine evening when I was returning home from the maize fields, with my kerchief full of pods, I found an official notification nailed on the door of our hut.

The lawyer's clerk who brought it, delighted to find nobody at home, had fastened the document to the door-post and decamped.

It gave me to understand that Muki was bringing an action against me for adultery.

A

term was fixed, however, within which, according to custom, we might appear before the priest at any place we liked and be reconciled if possible.

After the lapse of six weeks the priest would make another attempt to bring about a reconciliation; if this did not succeed, he would bid us go to the ----!

and we should have to appear before the judge instead!"

I now began to see to what I was indebted for the pleasure of her visit.

I should very much have liked to have banged the door in her face with the words: "I am not a lawyer, though I have served my terms!"

But I let her go on.

"I immediately took down the notification from the door," she resumed, "and sent my little maid with it to town to my mother's. By way of explanation I wrote her a letter, a task not unattended with difficulty, as Peter Gyuricza's hut was singularly ill-provided with writing materials.

First of all I had to manufacture ink from wild juniper berries, then I carved a pen from a goose-quill; in place of paper I made use of beautifully smooth maize leaves."

"Just as the Egyptians used papyrus?"

"Yes, and if papyrus was good enough for the daughters of the Pharaohs, why shouldn't maize-membranes be good enough for me?

I wrote and told her everything that had happened.

I entirely justified my proceedings.

If there was but one drop of justice in her composition she would be bound to acknowledge that my line of action was as clear as the day.

Muki had made off with the herdsman's wife; I, following the _lex talionis_--an eye for eye--had made off with Gyuricza.

He had brought an action against me; Gyuricza would bring an action against his own wife.

The pair of us stood on exactly the same legal footing.

If the two divorces were carried out, I meant to make the man of my choice my lawful husband, and would become in name what I already was in fact, the wife of Peter Gyuricza.

I referred to you also in my letter."

"To me?"

"Yes.

I argued that there was now no difference between peasants and gentlemen, and pointed out that since the 15th March you had omitted the privileged '_y_'[43] from the end of your name, and had substituted for it a simple '_i_,' and you were a 'glorious patriot,' as every one knew.

Nobody therefore had any reason to be ashamed of Peter Gyuricza.

Besides, I did not mean that he should remain a herdsman any longer;

but as soon as my mother handed over to me my patrimony (so much of it I mean as Muki had not already squandered away), I meant to purchase a farm, and Gyuricza and I would settle down upon it as independent proprietors."

[Footnote 43: The "_y_" at the end of Hungarian personal names has much the same value as the French _de_ or the German _von_--TR.

] The matter now really began to amuse me.

I could imagine to myself the Hogarthian group when the trio of ladies began spelling out syllable by syllable the letter that had been written on a maize-leaf.

"Well!

and what answer did you get?"

"The answer you may easily have anticipated.

My mother replied that she repudiated me entirely, that I should not get a farthing from her, and that I was never again to presume to show my face in a family which I had so utterly disgraced."

"And did Peter know all about this?"

"I was obliged to tell him, for my mother had nearly frightened to death the bearer of my letter, our little serving maid.

She told her that if she ever dared to come to town again she would have her seized and tied to the pillory (though there wasn't one), and well flogged into the bargain; so that neither by cuffs nor entreaties was the wench to be persuaded to go to town again.

She said as much to Peter.

She said she would rather lose her place.

And yet she ought to have gone every market-day to the town with cheese and butter, for these wares were Peter's chief means of livelihood.

What was I to do now?

I did this.

I

resolved to take the butter and cheese to market myself."

"You?

But how?"

"Not in a glass carriage, you may be sure.

The market is a good two hours' journey from our hut, and the direction is marked by the church tower.

The peasant women, when they pack with wares the baskets which they put on their heads, make, first of all, a sort of wreath of rags, which they place below the baskets to lighten the pressure and maintain the equilibrium."

"And you did the same?"

"Naturally!

It is no greater hardship for me, surely, than for the other poor girls who do it.

And remember, besides, that this marketing is just as great an amusement to the peasant women as a promenade concert is to fine ladies.

There was only one little nuisance connected with it.

Just at this time all the irrigation waters had overflowed, and all the fields and meadows between our hut and the market town were turned into a lake, through which we had to wade."

"What!

you waded through the flooded fields?"

"Oh, the water did not really come above my knees.

It was only here and there, by the side of the streams, that we had to truss up our petticoats pretty high, and then we took off our boots and carried them tied on to the handles of our baskets.

That is how all the women go."

"And you picked your way along like that too?"

"Again and again!

I might, indeed, have gone along by the dykes, but then I should have had to turn into the village and make a circuit of four miles with the mud up to my knees.

Along the even marshes, on the other hand, it is pleasant going, the soft soil does not hurt your heels, and there are no leeches."

"But did no one see you?"

"What did I care?

I quite enjoyed my aquatic promenade.

It was every bit as good as bathing at Trouville, and there I had by no means so ample a toilet.

On arriving in town, I at once readjusted my clothes, put on my boots, and went to sell butter and cheese right in front of my mother's house.

It was really a capital position that I chose; a corner-house between two thoroughfares, opening out upon the market-place."

"And nobody recognised you?"

"Why shouldn't they?

Every one recognised me, even the money-collector who hires out the standing-rooms.

He allowed me my standing-room gratis, because I 'belonged to the place.'

I was surrounded by quite a crowd of my former cavaliers, who bought up all my butter, and I sold my cheese by the ounce, at fancy prices; there was quite a run upon it.

Never had Peter Gyuricza seen so much money as I brought home to him from the sale of his butter and cheese."

"And your worthy mother?"

"Alas!

all that the poor thing could do was to pull down all the blinds in broad daylight.

I, however, purchased with the proceeds of the butter and cheese as much salt and tobacco as we required, packed them all up in the basket, and, placing it on my head, returned through the floods the same way by which I came."

"And did you do this often?"

"Every market day.

Sometimes it was rainy.

Then the peasant woman is wont to throw her upper garment over her head, that is her umbrella.

I

had to get accustomed to that too.

Once, a couple of my former young gentlemen acquaintances took it into their heads to play me a practical joke.

They paddled a canoe out of the Danube into the submerged plain, and when I began my wading tour they paddled after me.

That did _me_ no harm, but it turned out badly for them, for the peasant girls who went with me charged upon them like the host of Sisera, wrested the paddles from their hands, and left them rocking helplessly to and fro in the midst of the waters."

"But hasn't the water all dried up now?"

I asked impatiently.

"Oh, how he snaps at me!

Of course!

Now we can go dry-shod.

Only when we come to a ditch do we take off our shoes.

But, dear heart!

how I do go on gabbling without ever coming to the point.

I must explain why I have come all the way hither to you, my dear Mr. Advocate.

As I will not appear before the priest to further the reconciliation project, and my husband (my first, I mean) will do so neither, I must, of course, appear before the judge!

and as, moreover, my mother must be admonished to hand over my little property, if you would take my case up for me I should be exceedingly obliged to you."

I told her that I did not practise as an advocate, and that I had no experience whatever of divorce proceedings, not having been taught the subject in the schools.

Then she began to speak in a very solemn voice.

She said she had never expected me to take up her case, but had sought me out because she had been informed that the advocates with whom I had served my articles were very eminent practitioners; she would like to entrust her double suit to them.

As, however, she feared that they would neither receive her nor believe her if she appeared before them in her present costume, she earnestly begged that I would give her a letter of introduction to the firm of Molnár & Vérchovszky for friendship's sake--or for any other price.

"Well, I can do that for you--for nothing."

To write this letter I had to sit down at my writing-table.

"May I peep and see what you write about me?"

"If you like."

I could not take offence at her curiosity.

"I'll help you!"

said she, with naïve archness, and went and stood behind my back.

I must say that she had a very odd notion of helping me.

She leant right over me so that I could feel her burning breath on my face, and the throbbing of her heart against my shoulder.

I spoiled the first sheet of paper by writing last year's date at the top of it.

Then I could not call to mind the name of my client, and I thought one thing and wrote another.

Add to that that I made a mess of the simplest sentences, and wrote in a style worthy of a pedantic grammarian.

Finally I got hopelessly involved in the maze of a long-winded phrase which I began but could not finish.

That's what happens to a man when he has to listen to the beating of two hearts!

It was on this self-same table that the picture stood which I have already mentioned.

I had no time to conceal it in my drawer.

And why should I have tried to hide it?

Was I bound to make a mystery of it before her?

Right opposite to my writing-table was a mirror on the wall.

On one occasion, when I was pursuing an elusive word, I raised my head from my writing-desk and saw in the mirror the figure of the woman who was standing behind my back.

Oh, what a face was that!

She was not looking into my letter, but at the portrait.

The eyes were turned sideways, so that the upper parts of the whites were visible; the lips were drawn aside, and the teeth clenched.

I saw this from the mirror.

And this mirror, too had the property of making things look green.

Viewed in this magic light, the fair lady standing behind me appeared like the Iblis of the _Thousand-and-one Nights_, who sucks the blood of her lovers and leads the dances of the dead.

I finished the letter to my old chiefs.

Then I dried it with a piece of blotting-paper.

Sand I have always hated.

I also felt, in this respect, like Stephen Szechenyi,[44] who, whenever he received a sanded-letter, used to give it first of all to his lackey to be taken out in the hall and dusted.

Before enclosing the letter, however, I turned round and handed it to her.

[Footnote 44: Count Stephen Szechenyi, "the greatest of the Magyars," was born in 1791. He brilliantly distinguished himself at the battle of Leipsic, and at Tolentino, in 1815, at the head of his Hussars, annihilated Murat's cavalry.

After the war, he devoted himself to domestic politics with a tact, courage, and noble liberality which speedily made him the most popular man in Hungary.

The Hungarian Academy and the Hungarian National Theatre were founded at his initiative and mainly at his expense.

The breach with Austria in 1848 so preyed upon his mind that he went mad, and was confined in an asylum, where he destroyed himself in 1860. --TR.

] "Would you read it, please?"

The menacing spectre was no longer there.

Iblis had changed into a smiling young bride.

"And how do you know that I haven't read the letter?"

she asked, in her astonishment.

"My little finger whispered it to me!"

At this she burst out laughing, and pushed the letter away.

"I don't mean to read it!

I know that you have written no end of good things about me."

I folded up my letter, sealed it and wrote the address--"Joseph Molnár and Alexander Vérchovszky, Advocates."

Then I handed it to her.

Still she kept standing there in front of my writing-table, twirling the letter round and round in her hands, and gazing continually at the portrait.

Her face had become quite solemn.

In her deeply downcast eyes there was a suspicious brightness testifying to restrained tear-drops.

She heaved a deep sigh.

"But this is mere folly!"

She thrust my letter beneath her bodice, and in a voice of real warmth and sincerity, she stammered: "I thank you most kindly."

Then she added, in a voice half grave, half gay: "But come now!

You won't write my story in the newspapers, will you?"

"I assure you it is not my practice."

"And you won't put my stupid story into a novel or a romance, eh?

At least not while I'm alive?"

"Never!

Put your mind at rest on that point."

"No; don't say never.

Let it be only as long as I'm alive.

But when I die, wherever it may be, you shall receive a letter from me, which I will write to you at my last hour, authorizing you to write all that you know of me."

"My dear friend, death is written much more plainly on my brow than on yours."

She shuddered.

Twice she shuddered.

Then she threw her basket over her arm, and took her leave.

I would have escorted her to the door of the ante-chamber, but she held me back.

"Stay where you are.

I do not wish any one to see you paying attention to a country wench."

When I was by myself again and thinking over the whole scene, it seemed to me as if a golden thrush were piping derisively in my ear again-- "Foolish fellow!

Foolish fellow!"

For the second time I had let slip the opportunity of pilfering Paradise, conceded to me by a special and peculiar favour of the gods.

I

candidly confess that I am no saint....

I am a true son of Adam, of real flesh and blood.

No vow binds me to an ascetic life.

Let temptation come to me again in the shape of that pretty woman to-day and she shall see what I am made of!...

All day long these feverish imaginings haunted me.

In the drawer of my writing-table was the portrait which I once wrested in knightly tourney from her bridegroom, and which she herself had given me to put to rights.

I went again and again to my writing-table in order to take out that portrait and have another look at it.

But that other portrait lay there on my table and would not allow it.

It was much better to leave the house.

I occupied the whole day in strolling about the town.

Perhaps I may meet her somewhere in the street.

Late in the evening I returned home.

I was alone.

My lackey only came to me in the morning.

I had scarcely lighted my lamp when I heard a knocking at my door.

I

certainly had forgotten to shut the door of my ante-chamber, and so my visitor had managed to penetrate so far.

Who could it be at such a late hour?

"Come in!"

The blood flew to my head when the door opened.

_She_ had come back!

Then she was here again!

She did not come in, however, but stood with the door-latch in her hand, as if she were afraid of me.

"It is not nice of me, I know," she stammered, with a faltering voice, "to come here so late.

I have been here three times, but you were out.

I

must tell you what I've heard.

Don't be angry."

I begged her to come in, and took her by the hand.

My heart beat feverishly.

"The lawyers received me very well.

They were both at home.

They took up my case and assured me that it was bound to result in my favour, and that they would pay the preliminary expenses.

They behaved like gentlemen.

Then the conversation turned upon you.

They asked how long we had been acquainted.

I told them as much as was necessary, and wound up by saying that you were the one thoroughly disinterested friend that I possessed.

Then one of the advocates, the tall dry one I mean, said, with perfect good-nature: 'Well, if you are kindly disposed towards our young friend, just tell him that _the path along which he is now rushing so impetuously leads straight to the gallows_,' whereupon the blonde, ruddy-faced man added, '_or else to suicide.

_' I felt I must tell you that."

And with these words she stepped back from the door.

An icy shudder would have run down the shoulders of any other man at these words, but the message regularly set _me_ on fire.

It was my pet idea they wanted me to give up, the idea which I adored even more than my lady-love, the idea of my youth--the idea of liberty.

If any one offends my lady-love I will shed his blood, but let not even my lady-love interfere with my principles, as for them I am ready to pour out my own blood to the last drop.

"Be it so!"

I cried passionately; "that has nothing to do with you;" and I shut the door in her face.

Every fibre of my body quivered with rage.

They threaten me with the gallows, or with the suicidal dagger of a Cato!

I fear them not.

* * * * * My poor chiefs!

Half a year later they were rushing along the self-same path, at the end of which so many monsters were lurking.

I only lost my hair in the hands of these monsters, but they lost their heads.

Their own prophecy was fulfilled on them both.

From that day forth I was very wrath with the lady with the eyes like the sea.

CHAPTER IX