Debts of Honor.
by Maurus Jokai.
CHAPTER I
THE JOURNAL OF DESIDERIUS
At that time I was but ten years old, my brother Lorand sixteen; our dear mother was still young, and father, I well remember, no more than thirty-six. Our grandmother, on my father"s side, was also of our party, and at that time was some sixty years of age; she had lovely thick hair, of the pure whiteness of snow. In my childhood I had often thought how dearly the angels must love those who keep their hair so beautiful and white; and used to have the childish belief that one"s hair grows white from abundance of joy.
It is true, we never had any sorrow; it seemed as if our whole family had contracted some secret bond of unity, whereby each member thereof bound himself to cause as much joy and as little sorrow as possible to the others.
I never heard any quarrelling in our family. I never saw a pa.s.sionate face, never an anger that lasted till the morrow, never a look at all reproachful. My mother, grandmother, father, my brother and I, lived like those who understand each other"s thoughts, and only strive to excel one another in the expression of their love.
To confess the truth, I loved none of our family so much as I did my brother. Nevertheless I should have been thrown into some little doubt, if some one had asked me which of them I should choose, if I must part from three of the four and keep only one for myself. But could we only have remained together, without death to separate us or disturb our sweet contentment, until ineffable eternity, in such a case I had chosen for my constant companion only my brother. He was so good to me. For he was terribly strong. I thought there could not be a stronger fellow in the whole town. His school-fellows feared his fists, and never dared to cross his path; yet he did not look so powerful; he was rather slender, with a tender girl-like countenance.
Even now I can hardly stop speaking of him.
As I was saying, our family was very happy. We never suffered from want, living in a fine house with every comfort. Even the very servants had plenty. Torn clothes were always replaced by new ones and as to friends--why the jolly crowds that would make the house fairly ring with merry-making on name-days[1] and on similar festive occasions proved that there was no lack of them. That every one had a feeling of high esteem for us I could tell by the respectful greetings addressed to us from every direction.
[Footnote 1: In Hungary persons celebrate the name-day of the saint after whom they are called with perhaps more ceremony than their birthday.]
My father was a very serious man; quiet and not talkative. He had a pale face, a long black beard, and thick eyebrows. Sometimes he contracted his eyebrows, and then we might have been afraid of him; but his idea always was, that n.o.body should fear him; not more than once a year did it happen that he cast an angry look at some one. However, I never saw him in a good humor. On the occasion of our most festive banquets, when our guests were bursting into peals of laughter at sprightly jests, he would sit there at the end of the table as one who heard naught. If dear mother leaned affectionately on his shoulder, or Lorand kissed his face, or if I nestled to his breast and plied him, in child-guise, with queries on unanswerable topics, at such a time his beautiful, melancholy eyes would beam with such inexpressible love, such enchanting sweetness would well out from them! But a smile came there never at any time, nor did any one cause him to laugh.
He was not one of those men who, when wine or good humor unloosens their tongue, become loquacious, and tell all that lies hidden in their heart, speak of the past and future, chatter and boast. No, he never used gratuitous words. There was some one else in our family just as serious, our grandmother; she was just as taciturn, just as careful about contracting her thick eyebrows, which were already white at that time; just as careful about uttering words of anger; just as incapable of laughing or even smiling. I often remarked that her eyes were fixed unremittingly on his face; and sometimes I found myself possessed of the childish idea that my father was always so grave in his behavior because he knew that his mother was gazing at him. If afterward their eyes met by chance, it seemed as if they had discovered each other"s thoughts--some old, long-buried thoughts, of which they were the guardians; and I often saw how my old grandmother would rise from her everlasting knitting, and come to father as he sat among us thus abstracted, scarce remarking that mother, Lorand, and I were beside him, caressing and pestering him; she would kiss his forehead, and his countenance would seem to change in a moment: he would become more affectionate, and begin to converse with us; thereupon grandmother would kiss him afresh and return to her knitting.
It is only now that I recall all these incidents. At that time I found nothing remarkable in them.
One evening our whole family circle was surprised by the unusually good humor that had come over father. To each one of us he was very tender, very affectionate; entered into a long conversation with Lorand, asked him of his school-work, imparted to him information on subjects of which as yet he had but a faulty knowledge; took me on his knee and smoothed my head; addressed questions to me in Latin, and praised me for answering them correctly; kissed our dear mother more than once, and after supper was over related merry tales of the old days. When we began to laugh at them, he laughed too. It was such a pleasure to me to have seen my father laugh once. It was such a novel sensation that I almost trembled with joy.
Only our old grandmother remained serious. The brighter father"s face became, the more closely did those white eyebrows contract. Not for a single moment did she take her eyes off father"s face; and, as often as he looked at her with his merry, smiling countenance, a cold shudder ran through her ancient frame. Nor could she let father"s unusual gayety pa.s.s without comment.
"How good-humored you are to-day, my son!"
"To-morrow I shall take the children to the country," he answered; "the prospect of that has always been a source of great joy to me."
We were to go to the country! The words had a pleasant sound for us also. We ran to father, to kiss him for his kindness; how happy he had made us by this promise! His face showed that he knew it well.
"Now you must go to bed early, so as not to oversleep in the morning; the carriage will be here at daybreak."
To go to bed is only too easy, but to fall asleep is difficult when one is still a child, and has received a promise of being taken to the country. We had a beautiful and pleasant country property, not far from town; my brother was as fond as I was of being there. Mother and grandmother never came with us. Why, we knew not; they said they did not like the country. We were indeed surprised at this. Not to like the country--to wander in the fields, on flowery meadows; to breathe the precious perfumed air; to gather round one the beautiful, sagacious, and useful domestic animals? Can there be any one in the world who does not love that? Child, I know there is none.
My brother was all excitement for the chase. How he would enter forest and reeds! what beautiful green-necked wild duck he would shoot. How many multi-colored birds" eggs he would bring home to me.
"I will go with you, too," I said.
"No; some ill might befall you. You can remain at home in the garden to angle in the brook, and catch tiny little fishes."
"And we shall cook them for dinner." What a splendid idea! Long, long we remained awake; first Lorand, then I, was struck by some idea which had to be mentioned; and so each prevented the other from sleeping. Oh! how great the gladness that awaited us on the morrow!
Late in the night a noise as of fire arms awoke me. It is true that I always dreamed of guns. I had seen Lorand at the chase, and feared he would shoot himself.
"What have you shot, Lorand?" I asked half asleep.
"Remain quite still," said my brother, who was lying in the bed near me, and had risen at the noise. "I shall see what has happened outside."
With these words he went out.
Several rooms divided our bedroom from that of our parents. I heard no sound except the opening of doors here and there.
Soon Lorand returned. He told me merely to sleep on peacefully--a high wind had risen and had slammed to a window that had remained open; the gla.s.s was all broken into fragments; that had caused the great noise.
And therewith he proceeded to dress.
"Why are you dressing?"
"Well, the broken window must be mended with something to prevent the draught coming in; it is in mother"s bedroom. You can sleep on peacefully."
Then he placed his hand on my head, and that hand was like ice.
"Is it cold outside, Lorand?"
"No."
"Then why does your hand tremble so?"
"True; it is very cold. Sleep on, little Desi."
As he went out he left an intermediate door open for a moment; and in that moment the sound of mother"s laughter reached my ears. That well-known ringing sweet voice, that indicates those _nave_ women who among their children are themselves the greatest children.
What could cause mother to laugh so loudly at this late hour of the night? Because the window was broken? At that time I did not yet know that there is a horrible affliction which attacks women with agonies of h.e.l.l, and amidst these heart-rending agonies forces them to laugh incessantly.
I comforted myself with what my brother had said, and forcibly buried my head in my pillow that I might compel myself to fall asleep.
It was already late in the morning when I awoke again. This time also my brother had awakened me. He was already quite dressed.
My first thought was of our visit to the country.
"Is the carriage already here? Why did you not wake me earlier? Why, you are actually dressed!"
I also immediately hastened to get up, and began to dress; my brother helped me, and answered not a word to my constant childish prattling. He was very serious, and often gazed in directions where there was nothing to be seen.
"Some one has annoyed you, Lorand?"
My brother did not reply, only drew me to his side and combed my hair.
He gazed at me incessantly with a sad expression.
"Has some evil befallen you, Lorand?"