The Day of Wrath

by Mór Jókai

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE PLAGUE.

  There is a mighty Potentate among us here below, the secrets of whoseexistence are still unknown to our wise men, although they have a lot totell us about her power; a Potentate whom they have not yet taught us tofear, or else everybody would not still be turning to her full of hope.

  This Potentate is not Hell, but the Earth.

  Yes, the good, the blessed, the peaceful Earth. She is not violent likethe other elements, fire, water, and air. She calmly allows herself tobe trampled underfoot; lets us make great wounds in her; lets us loadher broad back with cities and towns; crush her bones by driving deepmining-shafts into her--and for all that she allows us who plague herso, to live and multiply in the midst of her dust.

  Has anyone ever inquired of her: Oh, my sovereign mistress! thou goodand blessed Earth! art thou pleased with the deeds we do upon thee? Canit please thee, perchance, to see us root up thy beauteous fresh woodsfrom off thee, leaving thy tormented body all naked in the blaze of theSun? Can it please thee to see us constrain thy flowing rivers withinnarrow basins, dry up thy lakes and leave thee athirst? Can it pleasethee to see us tear open thy body, break it up into little fragments,and compel these fragments to produce meat and drink for us? Can itplease thee to see us drench thy flowery meads with blood and hide awaythe bones of our dead in thy bosom? Can it please thee that we live uponthee here, and bless and curse thee that thou mayest nourish us, andrack our brains as to how we may best multiply our species in thoseportions of the earth where men are still but few?

  Nevertheless, the Earth patiently endures all this ill-treatment. Onlynow and then does she tremble with a fleeting horror, and then thepalaces heaped upon her totter to their very foundations. Yet are thereany among us who understand the hint?

  And then for centuries afterwards she gives not a single sign of life.She puts up with her naughty children as every good mother does. Sheoverlooks and hides away their faults and endures in their stead thevisitations of Heaven. She is never angry with them, she never punishesthem. She cherishes and nourishes them, and expects no gratitude inreturn. She only pines and pines, she only frets within herself, sheonly grieves and is anxious about the fate of her children, her selfish,heartless children: grief and anguish, the nastiness and the wickednessof man slowly undermine her strength and suddenly the Earth sickens.

  Oh! how man falls down and perishes when the earth is sick!--like theparasitical aphis-grub from the jaundiced leaves!

  New sorts of death for which there is no name appear in the midst of theterrified peoples, and a breath of air carries off the bravest and thestrongest. In vain they shut themselves up within stone walls, anointtheir bodies with salutary balms, and hold their very breath. Deathinvisible stalks through the fast-closed doors and seeks out them thatfear him. No vitiated air, no contagion is necessary; men have but tohear the name of this strange death and they tremble and die.

  This is no mere mortal malady, the Earth, the Earth herself is sick.

  * * * * *

  And how comical too this terror is!

  I remember those times. I was only a child then, I fancy, and thegeneral terror affected me but little; nay, the novelty of the situationrather diverted me. We were not allowed to go to school, we had avacation for an indefinite period at which I was much delighted I mustconfess. Our towns were separated from each other by military cordons,and all strangers passing to and fro were rigorously examined. My goodfather, whose gentle, serious face is one of my most pleasant memories,buckled on his silver-hilted sword and went off himself to mount guardsomewhere. I had greater confidence in that sword than in the wholeEnglish navy. My blessed, thoughtful, mother hung round each of ournecks little bags with large bits of camphor in them, in the beneficialeffects of which we believed absolutely, and strictly forbade us to eatmelons and peaches. And we were good dutiful children and strictlyobeyed her commands. And yet in that very year, just as if Nature hadresolved to be satirical at our expense, our gardens and orchardsoverflowed with an abundance of magnificent fruit. And there we allowedthem all to rot. We had a doctor in those days, a fine old fellow, who,when the danger was at its height, went fearlessly from house to house.He had white hair, rosy cheeks, and a slim, erect figure, and was alwayscracking jokes with us. He used to say: "No funk, no risk of Death!" andwould pick up the beautiful golden melons before our eyes and eat themwith the best appetite in the world, and he took no harm from them, forhe feared no danger. You had only to live regularly and trust in God, heused to say. He would laugh when we asked him: "Is it true that the airis full of tiny scarce visible insects, the inhaling of which bringsabout the disease?" "If you believe in these insects you had better keepyour mouths shut lest they fly into them while you are talking," hewould say. And subsequently when we heard the drowsy monotonous tollingof the bells and the funeral dirges sung day after day, morning andevening, beneath our windows, and saw orphans following in the track ofthe lumbering corpse-carts; when they told us that everyone in theneighbouring houses had died off in two days, and we saw all the windowsof the house opposite fast-closed, and not a soul looking through them;at such a time it was good to fold one's hands in prayer and reflectthat we were still all together, and that not one of us had been takenaway, but God had preserved us from all calamity. Our hope was weak, forthere was no foundation for it to build upon, but our faith was strongand all-sufficing.

  Such is the sole impression I have retained of that memorable year.

  Ah! elsewhere that same year was not content with embroidering itsmourning robe with mere tears, it used blood also, and taught the land atwofold lesson at a heavy cost.

  * * * * *

  The circular letters issued by the county authorities flew from villageto village, informing the local sages of the approaching peril of whicheven the well-formed knew no more than they had known ten years before,no more than they actually know now.

  The local sages, that is to say the justices and the schoolmasters, weredirected to explain to the ignorant people the contents of thesecircular letters.

  Explain indeed! Men whose own knowledge was of the most elementarydescription, men who looked for supernatural causes in the most naturalphenomena, were to explain what was still a profound mystery to thecollective wisdom of the world!

  Mr. Korde, whom we remember as one of the two schoolmasters of Hetfalu,accordingly, by dint of bellowing, gathered all his subjects around him.It was the day before breaking up for the holidays, and drawing from hispocket the folded and corded vellum document, he gave them to understandthat he was going to explain it to them. They, in their turn, were toexplain it when they got home to their dear parents.

  "Blockheads!" this was his usual mode of addressing his _jeunessedoree_--"blockheads! you see here before you the letter patent of HisHonour, the magistrate, signifying that all the schools are to be shutup, and the whole village is to be on the alert, inasmuch as a terribledisease, called the 'morbus,' is about to enter the kingdom. When themorbus lays hold of anybody the individual in question has not even timeto look over his shoulder, but falls down dead on the spot. Down hedrops, and there he stays.

  "The morbus begins in this way. The gall overflows into the vitalessences, and becomes gall-fever or cholera, consequently take care youdon't aggravate me.

  "Moreover, the morbus in question is to be found inside this year'smelons, apricots, and all sorts of fruit; so every man jack of you whodoesn't want to be a dead 'un mustn't go guzzling berries and suchlike."

  Here a couple of Scythians from the northern counties began squabblingloudly on the back benches.

  "Hie, there, you blockhead! Mike Turlyik, I know it is you--what was Italking about?"

  "You was saying that--that--that--no more apricots were to be sneakedfrom his reverence's garden."

  "Come out here, my son, wilt thou? I've a word to say in thine ear!"

  And he leathered the unfortunate Mike soundly. Yet
the lad after all hadreasoned not illogically, for he had started from the assumption thatthe prohibition in question had been inserted in the letter patent forthe express purpose of scaring the people away from the priest'sorchard, his reverence being the only man in the village who cultivatedfruit-trees.

  "And now let us return to the matter in hand. Listen now, youaddlepates!

  "Bathing, too, is very dangerous just now, and, in fact, every sort ofwashing with cold water, for thereby the vital essence within a man iseasily upset. On the other hand, brandy-drinking is very wholesome, forthereby the volume of spiritual essence in man is at any rate increased.Work on an empty stomach is also dangerous, as also are too muchreflection and brain-racking. On the other hand the eating of roast meatand as little walking about in the sun as possible are veryprofitable."

  This passage delighted the addlepates immensely.

  "Inasmuch, however, as it is quite possible that a man from aneighbouring village might easily convey to us in his jacket or knapsackthis morbus, which, by the way, is as catching as sheep-ticks; thereforeit is ordered that nobody is to quit his own village, either by cart oron foot, and no stranger is to be admitted from without. Should anyonerequire, however, to pass through the district, he must first of all belocked securely in a cowshed beyond the limits of the village, and therehis clothes must be well smoked ('fumigated' they call it), and hehimself well doused in a ducking-tub, and if he has any coin about himit must be rubbed with ashes, which life-imperilling occupation will beduly attended to by the local gipsies."

  After a pause, Mr. Korde resumed his learned instructions as follows:

  "If, nevertheless, anyone, despite these wise regulations, _should_catch the morbus, there is only one antidote, the name whereof isVismuthum. Vismuthum, vismuthi, neuter gender, second declension. InHungarian viszmuta, in Slovak vismuthium, in English bismuth."

  At this point the worthy preceptor was overcome by a violent fit ofcoughing, for he was now bound by his directions to explain theproperties of this mysterious substance whose name he himself had justthat moment learnt for the first time from his letter patent.

  "Well, now! listen all of you, for I shall examine you presently uponall that I have been telling you. Vismuthum is a powder, or rather afluid, or perhaps 'twere better to say a powder of a--a quiteindefinable colour. It is prepared in all sorts of ways, and has noparticular odour, and in substance much resembles piskotum.[2] Everyonewho partakes of it instantly becomes quite well again. First of all itis to be taken in a coffee spoon (his reverence will supply the spoongratis), and then, if that has no effect, in a tablespoon. If that alsohas no effect, then two tablespoons must be taken, and so on inincreasing doses, until the morbus leaves the patient altogether. It isto be had in the apothecary's shop at Kassa, so whoever does not go andget some has only himself to blame if he dies. Poor men will receive itgratis from Dr. Sarkantyus, and those who won't take it willingly willhave it crammed down their throats by force, and it will be alsosprinkled in all the wells of drinking water that the people may getsome of it that way. It will therefore be much better to make theacquaintance of vismuthum in a friendly manner, than go to the devil oneway or other for not taking it."

  [Footnote 2: Antimony.]

  The young people appreciated this last witticism and roared withlaughter.

  One of Mr. Korde's cubs took the liberty, however, of stretching out twofingers, which signified that he had a question to ask.

  "Well, Slipik, out with it!"

  "Mr. Rector, is the stuff sweetish like?"

  "Asine! have I not told you what it was? You have not been attending;hold out your paw!"

  The urchin got a smart rap on the palm of his hand with the ruler.

  "And now the other!"

  And so both hands smarted instead of his ears.

  "And now, Guszti Klimpa, stand out and repeat to these blockheads what Ihave been saying."

  Guszti Klimpa was the head boy, because his father rented the villagepot-house, and he himself wore the best jacket of them all, so he wasthe master's favourite. The urchin hastily pocketed the pen-knife withwhich he had hitherto been carving his bench, blushed deeply in hisembarrassment, and his eyes almost started from his head in hisendeavours to find an answer to the question put to him.

  "Well, my son, come, what did I say now?"

  The lad took a plunge at random.

  "Nixnus is a fluid which becomes a powder, which, can be made fromanything, and very much resembles a piskota."[3]

  [Footnote 3: Biscuit.]

  "_Bene, proestanter, eminentissime._ Only not _piskota_ but_piskotum_;[4] not feminine, you know, but neuter gender, seconddeclension."

  [Footnote 4: Antimony.]

  So Guszti Klimpa returned to his seat very well satisfied with himself.

  "Moreover, this I must add--and mind you tell it to your parents whenyou get home--that nothing is so good in these dangerous times as todrink one glass of brandy in the early morning on an empty stomach,another in the afternoon, a third on lying down, and as many times moreas one feels any foreign substance in the stomach. That is the bestremedy of all. And, Guszti Klimpa! mind you don't forget to inform yourdear father that your schoolmaster, the rector, is very much afraid ofthe morbus, and that my spirit flask is still with you."

  Guszti Klimpa's face assumed a pious expression at this reminder, andshoving beneath his hymn-book the shaft of his quill pen out of which hewas manufacturing a pocket pistol, he promised to deliver the message athome.

  "And now let us sing a hymn and say a prayer. And after that there willbe no more school till the morbus has departed."

  Great was the joy of the promising youths at these words. Guszti Klimpafired off his improvised pistol underneath the bench, and the pellet hitMr. Korde full on the nose, whereupon he well trounced Joska Slipik,though he knew very well that he was not the culprit.

  Whilst the wrongfully flogged urchin was still howling, the others begansinging the hymn. So long as the low notes predominated Mr. Korde'svoice was alone audible, but at the crescendoes the youthful believershad it all their own way, and shrieked till the windows rattled, therector beating time the while by lightly tapping the heads of theFaithful with his ruler whenever they departed from the impracticablemelody.

  After that, Guszti Klimpa grappled with a prayer, and recited themorning devotions instead of the evening devotions by mistake, a lapseof which the rector, however, took no notice. The Amen was no sooneruttered than the youngsters, with a wild yell, made a solid rush for thedoor, bearing in mind Mr. Korde's laudable habit on such occasions oflambing it into the hindermost by way of protesting against the generaluproar. When the whole class was fairly out in the street again, itsdelight at being released from school for some time to come was too muchfor it, and in the exuberance of its high spirits it fell tooth and nailupon the Lutheran lads who were playing at ball in front of their ownchurch, broke a couple of their heads, scribbled: "Vivat vacatio" on thewalls of every house they came to, slammed to every gate they passed,and roused every dog in the village to fury pitch--thus giving the wholeworld to understand that the rector, Mr. Michael Korde, had given hispromising pupils an extraordinary holiday, because the morbus wascoming, and it was not good for people to congregate together at suchtimes.

  * * * * *

  And now the village ancients and the women were trooping home fromchurch.

  Every face was dominated by an expression of dumb terror.

  In the church the priest also had read aloud the letter from the countyauthorities, adding a short discourse of his own to the effect that acalm confidence in the providence of God and a clear Christianconscience were worth far more than all the medicaments, cordons, andbismuth powder in the world.

  "We are all, however, in the hands of God," he said, "and if we livewell we shall die well. A righteous man need never fear Death."

  The old hag, "the death-bird," was crouching there on the church stepswith a bundle of heali
ng herbs in her lap, and her crutch under herarmpits, and with her chin resting on her knee. She kept counting allwho came out of the church: "One! two! three!" Every time she came tothree she began all over again--every third person was superfluous.

  And now all had gone, only she remained behind, she and shaggy Hanak,the bellringer.

  After the departure of the people a little white dog came running along,and, as often happens, peeped into the church.

  "Clear out of that!" cried the sexton, flinging the large church doorkey after him.

  The aged sybil lifted a skinny finger and shook it menacingly at thesexton.

  "Hanak! shaggy Hanak! Why dost thou drive away the dog? I tell thee, andI tell thee the truth, that it were better for thee, aye! and for othersalso, if they could be as such dogs instead of the two-legged beaststhey really are, for ere long we shall be in a world where not the voiceof thy bell, but the howling of dogs will accompany the dead to theirlast resting-place. Therefore trouble not thyself about the dogs, Hanak,shaggy Hanak."

  The bellringer durst not reply. He closed the church door softly, gotout of the woman's way, and while he hastened off, it seemed to him asif his head was dizzy from some cause or other, and his feet weretottering beneath him.

  When he handed the church door key over to the priest, his reverencegave him to understand that by order of the authorities the church bellswere not to be tolled for the dead during the outbreak of the plague toavoid alarming the people.

  As he went home that evening shaggy Hanak's head waggled from side toside, as if every hair upon it was a heavy debt. As he went along heheard all the dogs howling. Well, henceforth _they_ would have to followthe dead to their graves.

  After that Hanak had not the heart to go home, but sought comfort in thepot-house, where the village sages were already sitting in counciltogether and discussing the problems of the Future.