The Baron"s Sons.
by Mor Jokai.
PREFACE.
No page of history is more crowded with thrilling interest than that which records the uprising of the Hungarians, in 1848-49, in a gallant attempt to recover their const.i.tutional rights. The events of that stirring period, even when related by the sober pen of the annalist, read more like romance than reality; and thus they cannot fail to lend themselves admirably to the purposes of historical fiction. More than one of that brilliant series of novels with which the genius of Hungary"s greatest story-writer has enriched the literature, not of his own country merely, but of the world, takes its theme from those memorable scenes in which the author himself played no unimportant part. Into none of these fascinating romances has the writer succeeded in crowding so much of the life and colour, of the heroism and self-sacrifice, the triumph and the despair, of that national convulsion, as into the pages of "The Baron"s Sons" ("_A Koszivu Ember Fiai_," literally, "The Sons of the Stony-hearted Man"). Especially effective is his description of the historic flight over the Carpathians of the two hundred and twenty hussars who, at the outbreak of the Revolution, deserted the Austrian army and hastened to their country"s aid. No chapter in all the author"s writings exceeds this one in breathless interest and in the skilful handling of detail.
The necessity of abridging the author"s text, while regretted by no one more than by the translator, has, it is believed, tended to contribute to the story an element of unity and compactness which, owing to the undue elaboration of certain minor details, seems somewhat lacking in the original. It is with extreme hesitation and diffidence, however, that I venture, even in self-defence, to impute the slightest blemish to a style in which so many of the author"s admirers can see no fault. The curtailment has necessitated, in some chapters, a certain amount of adaptation, and a slight departure from strict literalness of rendering; but it is hoped that the spirit of the original has nowhere been sacrificed.
P. F. B.
Malden, Ma.s.s., April, 1900.
THE BARON"S SONS.
CHAPTER I.
SIXTY MINUTES.
The post-prandial orator was in the midst of his toast, the champagne-foam ran over the edge of his gla.s.s and trickled down his fat fingers, his lungs were expanded and his vocal chords strained to the utmost in the delivery of the well-rounded period upon which he was launched, and the blood was rushing to his head in the generous enthusiasm of the moment. In that brilliant circle of guests every man held his hand in readiness on the slender stem of his gla.s.s and waited, all attention, for the toast to come to an end in a final dazzling display of oratorical pyrotechnics. The attendants hastened to fill the half-empty gla.s.ses, and the leader of the gypsy orchestra, which was stationed at the farther end of the hall, held his violin-bow in the air, ready to fall in at the right moment with a burst of melody that should drown the clinking of gla.s.ses at the close of the toast.
At this point the family physician entered noiselessly and whispered a few 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 those of the guests who sat near her, withdrew from the room. Meanwhile the orator continued:
"May that honoured man who, like a second Atlas, bears the burden of our country on his shoulders, whom all future ages will reverence as the type of true patriotism, who is the leader of our party"s forces in their march to victory, and whom we all regard as our light-giving pharos, a tower of strength to our side and the bulwark of our cause, though at present he is unfortunately unable to be with us in person,--may he, I say, live to enjoy renewed health and strength and to 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 back of chairs and the dashing of wine-gla.s.ses against the wall, while the guests 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 a.s.sembled company wished so long a life was the renowned and honoured Baron Casimir Baradlay, lord lieutenant of his county, the owner of large estates, and the leader of a powerful party. The high dignitaries a.s.sembled about his hospitable board had gathered from far and near to determine upon a programme which should ensure their country"s welfare for the coming years. As a fitting close to this important conference, Baron Baradlay was treating his partisans to a banquet in the great hall of his castle, and in the unavoidable absence of the host himself his wife was presiding at the festive board. The administrator, however, Benedict Rideghvary, had taken the absentee"s place at the conference.
At the close of the toast, when those near the head of the table turned to touch gla.s.ses with the hostess, her absence was noticed, and the butler who stood behind her empty chair explained that the physician had just entered and whispered something in the lady"s ear, whereupon she had left the room. Probably, said he, her husband had sent for her. Upon this information a number of the guests made anxious inquiry whether their honoured host was seriously ill; and the administrator hastened to rea.s.sure all present, as far as his voice could reach down the long table, by telling them that it was merely a return of the baron"s chronic ailment. Some of the better-informed supplemented this announcement by explaining to their neighbours that the gentleman had, for perhaps ten years, been subject to frequent attacks of heart-failure, but could nevertheless, by observing very regular habits, be expected to live for another ten years or more.
Therefore, as it was only one of his habitual attacks, all joined in wishing their honoured host many, many years of life and happiness.
The family physician, however, had whispered in the wife"s ear these four words: "Only sixty minutes more!"
"I have been waiting for you," said the husband, as his wife entered the 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 have no weakness, Marie. It is the course of nature; in an hour I shall be a senseless form; so the doctor told me. Are our guests enjoying themselves?"
A silent nod was the reply.
"Let them continue to do so; do not disturb them, or hasten their departure. Having a.s.sembled for a conference, let them remain for the funeral banquet. I have long since determined upon all the details of the burial ceremony. The funeral anthem will be sung by the Debreczen College chorus--no opera music, only the old psalm tunes. The customary addresses will be delivered by the superintendent, in the church, and by the sub-dean, in the house, while the local pastor will repeat the Lord"s Prayer over the grave, and nothing more. Have you followed me carefully?"
The wife was gazing abstractedly into vacancy.
"I beg you, Marie," urged the speaker, "to bear in mind that what I am now saying I shall be unable to repeat. Have the goodness, then, to be seated at this little table by my bed, and write down the directions I have just given, and also those that I am about to add. You will find writing materials on the table."
The baroness did her husband"s bidding, seating herself at the little table and writing down what had just been told her. When she had finished the patient continued as follows:
"You have been a true and faithful wife to me, Marie, ever since our marriage, and have obeyed all my commands. For an hour longer I shall continue to be your lord and master, and the orders that I give you during this hour will furnish you occupation for the rest of your life. 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 the patient breathed more freely.
"Write down my words," he continued. "No one but you must hear them or see 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 earth as 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 out my designs, and still fewer that have the requisite courage. I have three 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 to a.s.sume their duties at once. They must first be trained in the school of life, and, meanwhile, you will be unable to see them. But don"t sigh over that; they are big boys now, and are not to be fondled and petted any longer.
"My eldest son, odon,[1] is to remain at the court of St. Petersburg; it is a good school for him. Nature and disposition have too long fostered in him an ardent enthusiasm which can bring no good to our stock, and of which he will there be cured. The Russian court is a good training school, and will teach him to distinguish between men born with certain inherited rights, and those born with no rights whatever. It will teach him to stand on the heights without feeling dizzy, to recognise the true rights of a wife in the eyes of her husband, to cast aside all foolish youthful enthusiasm, and, upon his return hither as a man, to grasp the rudder from which my hand has fallen. You are to supply him with money enough to play his part worthily among the young n.o.bles of the Russian court. Let him drain the cup of pleasure to the dregs. Leave him to his extravagances. To gain the serene heights of indifference, a young man must first sow his wild oats."
[Footnote 1: The vowel _o_ is sounded much like _oe_ in _Goethe_. _J_, as in _Jeno_, is p.r.o.nounced like _y_. In p.r.o.nouncing other Hungarian proper names in the book, let it be noted that _a_ is sounded nearly like _o_ in _not_; _a_ like _a_ in _far_; _e_ like _e_ in _met_; _e_ like _a_ in _fate_; _o_ like _o_ in _whole_, but somewhat shorter; _o_ 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 p.r.o.nounced than in English. For typographical reasons the diaeresis has been subst.i.tuted for the double acute accent; the latter gives the same sound to the vowel over which it is placed as the former, only lengthened.]
[TRANSCRIBER"S NOTE: The double acute accent in the name Jeno and in the t.i.tle _A Koszivu Ember Fiai_ has been restored in this electronic edition. An examination of the original Hungarian text found no other instances where the diaeresis was subst.i.tuted for the double acute.]
The speaker paused to look at the clock, which admonished him to hasten, as time was short and there was still much to say.
"That young girl," he continued, "on whose account he was sent away from home, you must try to marry to some one. Spare no expense. There are men enough suitable for her, and we will provide the dowry. Should the girl prove obstinate in her resolution, you must endeavour to bring about her father"s removal to Transylvania, where we have many connections. odon is to remain abroad until the family has moved away or he himself has married. The matter need not, I think, cause you any anxiety. My second son, Richard, will remain a month longer in the royal body-guard; but it offers no opening for a career, and he will leave it for the cavalry, where he is to serve a year, after which he must seek an appointment on the general staff. Skill, valour, and fidelity are three excellent aids to a man in making his way upward, and all three are developed by service. There are victories yonder waiting to be won, and my son is to take the lead. There will be war in Europe when once the earthquake begins, and a Richard Baradlay will find work enough ready to his hand. His fame shall cast its glory over us all. He must never marry: a wife would only be in his way. Let his part be to promote the fortunes of his brothers. What an excellent claim for their advancement would be the heroic death of their brother on the battle-field! But you are not writing, Marie. Surely, you are not weeping? I beg you to overcome such weakness, as there are only forty minutes left, and I have yet much to say."
The wife mastered her feelings and wrote on.
"My third and youngest son, Jeno, is my favourite; I don"t deny that I love him best of the three; but he will never know it. I have always treated him harshly, and you too must continue so to treat him. Let him remain at Vienna in the civil service and make his way upward step by step. The struggle will give him address, shrewdness, and fruitfulness of resource. Let him learn to supplant others by dint of superior intelligence and amiability, and to take all possible pains to please those whom he is afterward to use as ladders for his own upward progress. Do not spoil him with tender treatment at home, but let him learn to adapt himself to strangers and judge of their worth.
His ambition must be fostered, and an acquaintance cultivated with powerful and influential men that shall lead to valuable family connections."
A momentary distortion of the patient"s features bore witness to his acute suffering. It lasted but a second, however, when the n.o.ble will overcame the weakness of the flesh and enabled the speaker to continue his dying instructions.
"Three such strong supports--a diplomat, a soldier, and a high government official--will uphold and preserve the work of my hands.
Alas! why could I not have continued my task a little longer, until they were farther advanced in their careers? Marie, my wife, I beg and most solemnly adjure you to obey my behests. Every muscle in my body is wrestling with death, but my thoughts are not now upon that final dissolution which must so soon overtake me. This cold sweat on my brow is not caused by the death-agony, but by the fear lest all my past striving shall have been for naught, lest the work of a quarter of a century shall be buried with me. Ah, Marie, if you but knew how my heart pains me! No, no more medicine; that cannot help me. Show me my sons" pictures; they will bring relief."
The baroness brought three miniature likenesses and held them before her husband"s eyes. The man with the heart of stone looked at them, one after the other, and his sufferings abated. He forgot his death pangs, and pointing with his wasted forefinger at the portrait of the eldest, he whispered: "He will be most like me, I believe." Then, waving aside the three miniatures, he continued, coldly: "But no sentimentality now! The time is short and I shall soon be gathered to my fathers and leave to my sons what my ancestors left to me. But my house will remain as the fortress and defence of true principles.
Nemes...o...b..will live in history as the centre and focus of our national policy. 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 a task under which a man broke down. I will tell you. Six weeks after my death you are to marry again."
The pen fell from the woman"s hand.
"That is my command!" continued the stony-hearted man sternly; "and I have chosen a husband for you in advance. You will give your hand to Benedict Rideghvary."
At this the wife could no longer contain herself. She left the writing-table, sank down upon her knees by the bedside, seized her husband"s hand and wet it with her tears. The patient closed his eyes and sought counsel in the darkness. He found it.