And therewith she threw herself on the floor before the bed.
Melanie, alarmed, drew near to her, seized her arm, and tried to raise her. She asked her: "Czipra, what is the matter with you? Tell me what has happened?"--Czipra did not answer, did not move, did not open her eyes.
Melanie seeing she could not reanimate her, rose in despair, and, clasping her hands, panted:
"Great Heavens! what has happened?"--Then Czipra suddenly started up and began to laugh.
"Ha ha! Now I just managed to frighten you."
Therewith rolling uncontrolledly on the floor, she laughed continuously like one who has succeeded in playing a good joke on her companion.
"How startled I was!" panted Melanie, pressing her hands to her heaving breast.
"Sleep in my bed," Czipra said. "I shall sleep here on the floor. You know I am accustomed to sleep on the ground, covered with rugs.
""My mother was a gypsy maid She taught me to sleep on the ground, In winter to walk with feet unbound; In a ragged tent my home was made.""
She sang Melanie this bizarre song twice in her peculiar melancholy strain, and then suddenly threw around her the rug which lay on the bed, put one arm under her head, and remained quite motionless; she would not reply any longer to a single word of Melanie"s.
The next day Topandy returned from town; scarce had he taken off his traveling-cloak, when Czipra burst in upon him.
She seized his hand violently, and gazing wildly into his eyes, said:
"Sir, I cannot live longer under such conditions. I shall kill myself.
Teach me to pray."
Topandy looked at her in astonishment and shrugged his shoulders sarcastically.
"Whatever possessed you to break in so upon me? Do you think I come from some pilgrimage to Bodajk,[65] all my pockets full of saints" fiddles, of beads, and of gingerbread-saints? Or am I a Levite? Am I a "monk"
that you look to me for prayer?"
[Footnote 65: A place visited by pilgrims, like Lourdes, etc., it is in Fehermegye (white county).]
"Teach me to pray. I have long enough besought you to do so, and I can wait no longer."
"Go and don"t worry me. I don"t know myself where to find what you want."
"It is not true. You know how to read. You have been taught everything.
You only deny knowledge of G.o.d, because you are ashamed before Him; but I long to see His face! Oh, teach me to pray!"
"I know nothing, my dear, except the soldier"s prayer."[66]
[Footnote 66: _i. e._, Blasphemy.]
"Very well. I shall learn that."
"I can recite it to you."
"Well, tell it to me."
Czipra acted as she had seen Melanie do: she kneeled down before the table: clasping her hands devotedly and resting against the edge of the table.
Topandy turned his head curiously: she was taking the matter seriously.
Then he stood before her, put his two hands behind him, and began to recite to her the soldier"s prayer.
"Adjon Isten harom "B"-et, Harom "F"-et, harom "P"-et.
Bort, buzat, bekesseget, Fat, fuvet, feleseget, Pipat, puskat, patrontast, Es egy butykos palinkat!
Iketum, piketum, holt! berdo! vivat!"[67]
[Footnote 67: "G.o.d grant three "B-s," three "F-s," and three "P-s."
Wine, wheat, peace, wood, gra.s.s, wife, pipe, rifle, cartridge-case, and a little cask of brandy.... Hurrah! hurrar!" It is quite impossible to render the verse into English in any manner that would reproduce the original, so I have given the original Magyar with a literal translation.]
The poor little creature muttered the first sentences with such pitiable devotion after that G.o.dless mouth:--but, when the thing began to take a definitely jesting turn, she suddenly leaped up from her knees in a rage, and before Topandy could defend himself, dealt him such a healthy box on the ears that it made them sing; then she darted out and banged the door after her.
Topandy became like a pillar of salt in his astonishment. He knew that Czipra had a quick hand, but that she would ever dare to raise that tiny hand against her master and benefactor, because of a mere trifling jest, he was quite incapable of understanding.
She must be in some great trouble.
Though he never said a word, nor did Czipra, about the blow he had received, and though when next they met they were the same towards one another as they had ever been, Topandy ventured to make a jest at table about this humorous scene, saying to Lorand:
"Balint, ask Czipra to repeat that prayer which she has learned from me: but first seize her two hands."
"Oho!" threatened Czipra, her face burning red. "Just play some more of your jokes upon me. Your lives are in my hands: one day I shall put belladonna in the food, and poison us all together."
Topandy smilingly drew her towards him, smoothing her head; Czipra sensitively pressed her master"s hand to her lips, and covered it with kisses;--then put him aside and went out into the kitchen,--to break plates, and tear the servants" hair.
CHAPTER XVI
THAT RING
The tenth year came: it was already on the wane. And Lorand began to be indifferent to the prescribed fatal hour.
He was in love.
This one thought drove all others from his mind. Weariness of life, atheism, misanthropy,--all disappeared from his path like will-o"-the-wisps before the rays of the sun.
And Melanie liked the young fellow in return.
She had no strong pa.s.sions, and was a prudent girl, yet she confessed to herself that this young man pleased her. His features were n.o.ble, his manner gentle, his position secure enough to enable him to keep a wife.
Many a time did she walk with Lorand under the shade of the beautiful sycamores, while Czipra sat alone beside her "czimbalom" and thrashed out the old souvenirs of the plain,--alone.
Lorand found it no difficult task to remark that Melanie gladly frequented the spots he chose, and listened cheerfully to the little confessions of a sympathetic heart. Yet he was himself always reserved.--And that ring was always there on her finger. If only that magic band might drop down from there! Two years had already pa.s.sed since her father"s death had thrown her into mourning; she had long since taken off black dresses; nor could she complain against "the bread of orphanhood." For Topandy supplied her with all that a woman holds dear, just as if she had been his own child.