by Mór Jókai
THE BARDY FAMILY.
We are far amidst the snow-clad mountains of Transylvania.
The scenery is magnificent. In clear weather, the plains of Hungary asfar as the Rez promontory may be seen from the summits of themountains. Groups of hills rise one above the other, covered withthick forest, which, at the period when our tale commences, had justbegun to assume the first light green of spring.
Toward sunset, a slight purple mist overspread the farther pinnacles,leaving their ridges still tinged with gold. On the side of one ofthese hills, the white turrets of an ancient family mansion gleamedfrom amid the trees.
Its situation was peculiarly romantic. A steep rock descended on oneside, on whose pinnacle there rose a simple cross. In the depth of thevalley beneath lay a scattered village, whose evening bellsmelodiously broke the stillness of Nature.
Farther off, some broken roofs arose among the trees, from whence thesound of the mill, and the yellow-tinted stream, betrayed the miners'dwellings.
Through the meadows in the valley beneath, a serpentine rivulet woundits silvery way, interrupted by numerous falls and huge blocks ofstone, which had been carried down in bygone ages from the mountainsduring the melting of the snows.
A little path, cut in the side of the rock, ascended to the castle;while, higher up, a broad road, somewhat broken by the mountainstreams, conducted across the hills to more distant regions.
The castle itself was an old family mansion, which had received manyadditions at different periods, as the wealth or necessities of thefamily suggested.
It was surrounded by groups of ancient chestnut trees; and the terracebefore the court was laid out in gardens, which were now filled withanemones, hyacinths, and other early flowers. Now and then the head ofa joyous child appeared at the windows, which were opened to admit theevening breeze; while various members of the household retinue wereseen hastening through the corridors, or standing at the doors intheir embroidered liveries.
The castle was completely surrounded by a strong railwork of iron, thestone pillars of which were overgrown by the evergreen leaves of thegobea and epomoea.
* * * * *
It was the early spring of 1848.
A party, consisting of thirteen persons, had assembled in thedining-room. They were all members of one family, and all bore thename of BARDY.
At the head of the board sat the grandmother, an old lady of eightyyears of age, whose snow-white hair was dressed according to thefashion of her times beneath her high white cap. Her face was pale andmuch wrinkled, and the eyes turned constantly upwards, as is the casewith persons who have lost their sight. Her hand and voice trembledwith age, and there was something peculiarly striking in the thicksnow-white eyebrows.
On her right hand sat her eldest son, Thomas Bardy, a man of betweenfifty and sixty. With a haughty and commanding countenance,penetrating glance, lofty figure, and noble mien, he was a true typeof that ancient aristocracy which is now beginning to die out.
Opposite to him, at the old lady's left hand, sat the darling of thefamily--a lovely girl of about fifteen. Her golden hair fell inluxuriant tresses round a countenance of singular beauty andsweetness. The large and lustrous deep-blue eyes were shaded by longdark lashes, and her complexion was pale as the lily, excepting whenshe smiled or spoke, and a slight flush like the dawn of morningoverspread her cheeks.
Jolanka was the orphan child of a distant relative, whom the Bardyshad adopted. They could not allow one who bore their name to sufferwant; and it seemed as if each member of the family had united to heapaffection and endearment on the orphan girl, and thus prevent her fromfeeling herself a stranger among them.
There were still two other female members of the family: Katalin, theold lady's daughter, who had been for many years a widow; and the wifeof one of her sons, a pretty young woman, who was trying to teach thelittle prattler at her side to use the golden spoon which she hadplaced in his small fat hand, while he laughed and crowed, and thefamily did their best to guess what he said, or what he mostpreferred.
Opposite to them there sat two gentlemen. One of them was the husbandof the young mother, Jozsef Bardy--a handsome man of aboutfive-and-thirty, with regular features, and black hair and beard; aconstant smile beamed on his gay countenance, while he playfullyaddressed his little son and gentle wife across the table. The otherwas his brother, Barnabas--a man of herculean form and strength. Hisface was marked by small-pox; he wore neither beard nor moustache,and his hair was combed smoothly back, like a peasant's. Hisdisposition was melancholy and taciturn; but he seemed constantlystriving to atone, by the amiability of his manners, for anunprepossessing exterior.
Next to him sat a little cripple, whose pale countenance bore thatexpression of suffering sweetness so peculiar to the deformed; whilehis lank hair, bony hands, and misshapen shoulders awakened thebeholder's pity. He, too, was an orphan--a grandchild of the old lady;his parents had died some years before.
Two little boys of about five years old sat opposite to him. They weredressed alike, and the resemblance between them was so striking, thatthey were constantly mistaken. They were twin-children of the youngcouple.
At the lower end of the table sat Imre Bardy, a young man of twenty,whose handsome countenance was full of life and intelligence, hisfigure manly and graceful, and his manners courteous and agreeable: aslight moustache was beginning to shade his upper lip, and his darkhair fell in natural ringlets round his head. He was the only son ofthe majoresco, Tamas Bardy, and resembled him much in form andfeature.
Beside him sat an old gentleman, with white hair and ruddy complexion.This was Simon Bardy, an ancient relative, who had grown old with thegrandmother of the family.
The same peculiarity characterized every countenance in the Bardyfamily--namely, the lofty forehead and marked brows, and the largedeep-blue eyes, shaded by their heavy dark lashes.[17]
[Footnote 17: There is a race of Hungarians in the Karpath, who,unlike the Hungarians of the plain, have blue eyes, and often fairhair.]
* * * * *
"How singular!" exclaimed one of the party; "we are thirteen at tableto-day."
"One of us will surely die," said the old lady; and there was amournful conviction in the faint trembling tones.
"O no, grandmother! we are only twelve and a half," exclaimed theyoung mother, taking the little one on her knee. "This little fellowonly counts half on the railroad."
All the party laughed at this remark; even the little cripple's palecountenance relaxed into a sickly smile.
"Ay, ay," continued the old lady, "the trees are now putting forththeir verdure; but at the fall of the leaf, who knows if all, or anyof us, may still be sitting here?"
* * * * *
Several months had passed since this slight incident.
In one of the apartments of the castle, the eldest Bardy and his sonwere engaged in earnest conversation.
The father paced hastily up and down the apartment, now and thenstopping short to address his son, who stood in the embrasure of oneof the windows. The latter wore the dress of the Matyas Hussars[18]--agray dolmany, with crimson cord; he held a crimson csako, with atricoloured cockade in his hand.
[Footnote 18: Part of the free corps raised in 1848.]
"Go," said his father, speaking in broken accents, "the sooner thebetter; let me not see you!--do not think I speak in anger; but Icannot bear to look at you, and think where you are going. You are myonly son, and you know how I have loved you--how all my hopes havebeen concentrated in you. But do not think that these tears, which yousee me shed for the first time, are on your account; for if I knew Ishould lose you--if your blood were to flow at the next battle, Ishould only bow my head in the dust and say, The Lord gave, and theLord has taken away, blessed be His holy name! Yes, if I heard thatyou and your infatuated companions were cut to pieces, I could stiflethe burning tears; but to know that your blood, when it flows, willbe a cu
rse upon the earth, and your death will be the death of twokingdoms"--
"They may die now; but they will regenerate"--
"That is not true; you only deceive yourselves with the idea that youcan build up a new edifice when you have overthrown the old one. GreatGod, what sacrilege! Who has intrusted you with the fate of yourcountry, to tempt the Almighty? Who authorized you to lose all thereis for the hope of what may be? For centuries past, have so manyhonourable men fought in vain to uphold the old totteringconstitution, as you call it? or were _they_ not true patriots andheroes? Your companions have hissed their persecuted countrymen in theDiet; but do they love their country better than we do, who have shedour blood and sacrificed our interests for her from generation togeneration, and even suffered disgrace, if necessary, to keep her inlife?--for though that life has been gradually weakened, still it islife. You promise her glory; but the name of that glory is _Death_!"
"It may be so, father; we may lose our country as regards ourselves,but we give one instead to ten millions, who were hitherto our ownpeople, and yet strangers in their native land!"
"Chimera! The people will not understand you. They never even dreamtof what you wish to give them. The true way to seek the people'swelfare is to give them what they need.
"Ask my dependants! Is there one among them whom I have allowed tosuffer want or ruin, whom I have not assisted in times of need?--orhave I ever treated them unjustly? You will not hear a murmur. Tellthem that I am unjust notwithstanding, because I do not call thepeasant from his plough to give his opinion on forming the laws andconstitution,--and what will be the consequence? They will stare atyou in astonishment; and yet, in mistaken wrath they will come downsome night and burn this house over my head."
"That is the unnatural state of the times. It is all the fault of pastbad management, if the people have no better ideas. But let thepeasant once be free--let him be _a man_, and he will understand allthat is now strange to him."
"But that freedom will cost the lives of thousands!"
"I do not deny it. Indeed I believe that neither I nor any of thepresent generation will reap the fruits of this movement. I think itprobable that in a few years not one of those whose names we now hearspoken of may still be living; and, what is more, disgrace and cursesmay be heaped upon their dust. But a time _will_ come when the greatinstitutions of which they have laid the foundation will arise andrender justice to the memory of those who sacrificed themselves forthe happiness of future generations. To die for our country is aglorious death; but to carry to the grave with us the curses ofthousands, to die despised and hated for the salvation of futuremillions, oh! that is sublime--it is Messiah-like!"
"My son--my only son!" cried his father, throwing himself passionatelyon the young man's neck, and sobbing bitterly, "do you see thesetears?"
"For the first time in my life I see them, father--I see you weep; myheart can scarcely bear the weight of these tears--and yet I go! Youhave reason to weep, for I bring neither joy nor glory on yourhead--and yet I go! A feeling stronger than the desire of glory,stronger than the love of my country, inspires my soul; and it is aproof of the strength of my faith that I see your tears, myfather--and yet go!"
"Go!" murmured his father in a voice of despair. "You may never returnagain, or, when you do, you may find neither your father's house northe grave in which he is laid! But know, even then, in the hour ofyour death, or in the hour of mine, I do not curse you--and now,leave me." With these words he turned away, and motioned to his son todepart.
Imre silently left the apartment, and as soon as he had closed thedoor the tears streamed from his eyes; but before his sword had struckthe last step his countenance had regained its former determination,and the fire of enthusiasm had kindled in his eye.
He then went to take leave of his Uncle Jozsef, whom he foundsurrounded by his family. The twins were sitting at his feet, whilehis wife was playing bo-peep with the little one, who laughed andshouted, while his mother hid herself behind his father's arm-chair.
Imre's entrance interrupted the general mirth. The little boys ranover to examine the sword and golden tassels, while the little onebegan to cry in alarm at the sight of the strange dress.
"Csitt baba!" said his mother, taking him from his father's arms;"your cousin is going to the wars, and will bring you a golden horse."
Jozsef wrung his nephew's hand. "God be with you!" he exclaimed; andadded in a lower voice, "You are the noblest of us all--you have donewell!"
They then all embraced him by turns, and Imre left them, amidst theclamours of the little ones, and proceeded to his grandmother'sapartments.
On the way, he met his Uncle Barnabas, who embraced him again andagain in silence, and then tore himself away without saying a word.
The old lady sat in her great arm-chair, which she seldom quitted, andas she heard the clash of Imre's sword, she looked up and asked whowas coming.
"It is Imre!" said the fair-haired maiden, blushing, and her heartbeat quickly as she pronounced his name.
Jolanka felt that Imre was more than a brother to her, and the feelingwith which she had learnt to return his affection was warmer than evena sister's love.
The widow lady and the little cripple were also in the grandmother'sapartment: the child sat on a stool at the old lady's feet, and smiledsadly as the young man entered.
"Why that sword at your side, Imre?" asked the old lady in a feeblevoice. "Ah, this is no good world--no good world! But if God isagainst us, who can resist His hand? I have spoken with the dead againin dreams: I thought they all came round me and beckoned me to followthem; but I am ready to go, and place my life with gratitude andconfidence in the hand of the Lord. Last night I saw the year 1848written in the skies in letters of fire. Who knows what may come overus yet! This is no good world--no good world!"
Imre bent silently over the old lady's hand and kissed it.
"And so you are going?--well, God bless and speed you, if you gobeneath the cross, and never forget in life or in death to raise yourheart to the Lord;" and the old lady placed her withered hand upon hergrandson's head, and murmured, "God Almighty bless you!"
"My husband was just such a handsome youth when I lost him," sighedthe widow lady as she embraced her nephew; "God bless you!"
The little cripple threw his arms round his cousin's knees, and,sobbing, entreated him not to stay long away.
The last who bade farewell was Jolanka. She approached with downcasteyes, holding in her small white hands an embroidered cockade, whichshe placed on his breast. It was composed of five colours--blue andgold, red, white, and green.[19]
[Footnote 19: Blue and gold are the colours of Transylvania.]
"I understand," said the young man, in a tone of joyful surprise, ashe pressed the sweet girl to his heart; "Erdely[20] and Hungaryunited! I shall win glory for your colours!"
[Footnote 20: Transylvania.]
The maiden yielded to his warm embrace, murmuring, as he released her,"Remember me!"
"When I cease to remember you, I shall be no more," replied the youthfervently.
And then he kissed the young girl's brow, and once more bidding themall farewell, he hurried from the apartment.
Old Simon Bardy lived on the first floor: Imre did not forget him.
"Well, nephew," said the old man cheerfully, "God speed you, and giveyou strength to cut down many Turks!"
"It is not with the Turks that we shall have to do," replied the youngman, smiling.
"Well, with the French," said the old soldier of the past century,correcting himself.
A page waited at the gate, with two horses saddled and bridled.
"I shall not require you--you may remain at home," said Imre, as,taking the bridle of one of the horses and vaulting lightly into thesaddle, he pressed his csako over his brow and galloped from thecastle.
As he rode under the cross, he checked his horse and looked back. Wasit of his grandmother's words, or of the golden-haired Jolanka that hethought?
; A white handkerchief waved from the window.
"Farewell, light of my soul!" murmured the youth; and kissing hishand, he once more dashed his spurs into his horse's flanks, andturned down the steep hill.
* * * * *
Those were strange times. All at once the villages began to bedepopulated; the inhabitants disappeared, none knew whither. The doorsof the houses were closed.
The bells were no longer heard in the evening, nor the maiden's songas she returned from her work. The barking of dogs which had losttheir masters alone interrupted the silence of the streets, where thegrass began to grow.
Imre Bardy rode through the street of the village without meeting asoul; few of the chimneys had smoke, and no fires gleamed through thekitchen windows.
Evening was drawing on, and a slight transparent mist had overspreadthe valley. Imre was desirous of reaching Kolozsvar[21] early on thenext morning, and continued his route all night. About midnight themoon rose behind the trees, shedding her silvery light over theforest. All was still, excepting the echo of the miner's hammer, andthe monotonous sound of his horse's step along the rocky path. He rodeon, lost in thought; when suddenly the horse stopped short, andpricked his ears.
[Footnote 21: Klausenburg.]
"Come, come," said Imre, stroking his neck, "you have not heard thecannon yet."
The animal at last proceeded, turning his head impatiently from sideto side, and snorting and neighing with fear.
The road now led through a narrow pass between two rocks, whosesummits almost met; and a slight bridge, formed of one or two rottenplanks, was thrown across the dry channel of a mountain stream whichcut up the path.
As Imre reached the bridge, the horse backed, and no spurring couldinduce him to cross. Imre at last pressed his knees angrily againstthe trembling animal, striking him at the same time across the neckwith the bridle, on which the horse suddenly cleared the chasm at onebound, and then again turned and began to back.
At that instant a fearful cry rose from beneath, which was echoed fromthe rocks around, and ten or fifteen savage-looking beings climbedfrom under the bridge, with lances formed of upright scythes.
Even then there would have been time for the horseman to turn back,and dash through the handful of men behind him; but either he wasashamed of turning from the first conflict, or he was desirous, at anyrisk, to reach Kolozsvar at the appointed time; and instead ofretreating by the bridge, he galloped towards the other end of thepass, where the enemy rushed upon him from every side, yellinghideously.
"Back, Wallachian dogs!" cried Imre, cutting two of them down, whileseveral others sprang forward with their scythes.
Two shots whistled by, and Imre, letting go the bridle, cut right andleft, his sword gleaming rapidly among the awkward weapons; and,taking advantage of a moment in which the enemy's charge began toslacken, he suddenly dashed through the crowd towards the outlet ofthe rock, without perceiving that another party awaited him above therocks with great stones, with which they prepared to crush him as hepassed.
He was only a few paces from the spot, when a gigantic figure, armedwith a short broad axe, and with a Roman helmet on his head, descendedfrom the rock in front of him, and seizing the reins of the horse,forced him to halt.
The young man aimed a blow at his enemy's head, and the helmet fellback, cut through the middle, but the force of the blow had broken hissword in two; and the horse, lifted by his giant foe, reared, so thatthe rider, losing his balance, was thrown against the side of therock, and fell senseless to the ground. At the same instant a shot wasfired towards them from the top of the rock.
"Who fired there?" cried the giant, in a voice of thunder.
The bloodthirsty Wallachians would have rushed madly on theirdefenceless prey, had not the giant stood between him and them.
"Who fired on me?" he sternly exclaimed.
The Wallachians stood back in terror.
"It was not on you, Decurio, that I fired, but on the hussar,"stammered out one of the men, on whom the giant had fixed his eye.
"You lie, traitor! Your ball struck my armour; and had I not worn ashirt of mail, it would have pierced my heart."
The man turned deadly pale, trembling from head to foot.
"My enemies have paid you to murder me?"
The savage tried to speak, but the words died upon his lips.
"Hang him instantly--he is a traitor!"
The rest of the gang immediately seized the culprit and carried him tothe nearest tree, from whence his shrieks soon testified that thesentence was being put in execution.
The Decurio remained alone with the young man; and hastily liftinghim, still senseless, from the ground, he mounted his horse, andplacing him before him, ere the savage horde had returned, he hadgalloped to some distance along the road from whence the youth hadcome, covering him with his mantle as he passed the bridge, to concealhim from several of the gang who stood there, and exclaiming: "Followme to Topanfalva."
As soon as they were out of sight, he suddenly turned to the left,down a steep hilly path, and struck into the depth of the forest.
* * * * *
The morning sun had just shot its first beams across the hills,tinting with golden hues the reddening autumn leaves, when the younghussar began to move in his fevered dreams, and murmured the name"Jolanka."
In a few moments he opened his eyes. He was lying in a small chamber,through the only window of which the sunbeams shone upon his face.
The bed on which he lay was made of lime-boughs, simply woventogether, and covered with wolves' skins. A gigantic form was leaningagainst the foot of the bed with his arms folded, and as the young manawoke, he turned round. It was the Decurio.
"Where am I?" asked the young man, vaguely endeavouring to recall theevents of the past night.
"In my house," replied the Decurio.
"And who are you?"
"I am Numa, Decurio of the Roumin[22] Legion, your foe in battle, butnow your host and protector."
[Footnote 22: The Wallachians were, in the days of Trajan, subdued bythe Romans, with whom they became intermixed, and are also called_Roumi_.]
"And why did you save me from your men?" asked the young man, after ashort silence.
"Because the strife was unequal--a hundred against one."
"But had it not been for you, I could have freed myself from them."
"Without me you had been lost. Ten paces from where I stopped yourhorse, you would inevitably have been dashed to pieces by huge stoneswhich they were preparing to throw down upon you from the rock."
"And you did not desire my death?"
"No, because it would have reflected dishonour on the Roumin name."
"You are a chivalrous man, Decurio!"
"I am what you are: I know your character, and the same feelinginspires us both. You love your nation, as I do mine. Your nation isgreat and cultivated; mine is despised and neglected, and my love isthe more bitterly devoted. Your love for your country makes youhappy; mine deprives me of peace. You have taken up arms to defendyour country without knowing your own strength, or the numbers of thefoe; I have done the same. Either of us may lose, or we may both beblotted out; but though the arms may lie buried in the earth, rustwill not eat them."
"I do not understand your grievances."
"You do not understand? Know, then, that although fourteen centurieshave passed since the Roman eagle overthrew Diurbanus, there are stillthose among us--the now barbarous people--who can trace their descentfrom generation to generation, up to the times of its past glory. Wehave still our traditions, if we have nothing more; and can point outwhat forest stands in the place of the ancient Sarmisaegethusa, andwhat town is built where once Decebalus overthrew the far-famed troopsof the Consulate. And alas for that town! if the graves over which itshouses are built should once more open, and turn the populous streetsinto a field of battle! What is become of the nation, the heir of somuch glory?--the proud Dacians, the
descendants of the far-famedlegions? I do not reproach any nation for having brought us to what wenow are; but let none reproach me if I desire to restore my people towhat they once were."
"And do you believe that this is the time?"
"We have no prophets to point out the hour; but it seems yours do notsee more clearly. We shall attempt it now; and if we fail, ourgrandchildren will attempt it again. We have nothing to lose but a fewlives; you risk much that is worth losing, and yet you assemblebeneath the banner of war. Then what would you do if you were likeus?--a people who possess nothing in the world, among whom there isnot one able or one instructed head; for although every third manbears the name of Popa, it is not every hundredth who can read: apeople excluded from every employment; who live a miserable life inthe severest manual labour; who have not one noble city in theircountry, the home of three-fourths of their people! Why should we seekto know the signs of the times in which we are to die, or beregenerated? We have nothing but our wretchedness, and if we areconquered we lose nothing. Oh! you did wrong for your own peace toleave a nation to such utter neglect!"
"We do not take up arms for our nation alone, but for freedom ingeneral."
"You do wrong. It is all the same to us who our sovereign may be, onlylet him be just towards us, and raise up our fallen people; but youwill destroy your nation--its power, its influence, andprivileges--merely that you may live in a country without a head."
A loud uproar interrupted the conversation. A disorderly troop ofWallachians approached the Decurio's house, triumphantly bearing thehussar's csako on a pole before them.
"Had I left you there last night, they would now have exhibited yourhead instead of your csako."
The crowd halted before the Decurio's window, greeting him with loudvociferations.
The Decurio spoke a few words in the Wallachian language, on whichthey replied more vehemently than before, at the same time thrustingforward the kalpag on the pole.
The Decurio turned hastily round. "Was your name written on yourkalpag?" he asked the young man, in evident embarrassment.
"It was."
"Unhappy youth! The people, furious at not having found you, aredetermined to attack your father's house."
"And you will permit them?" asked the youth, starting from bed.
"I dare not contradict them, unless I would lose their confidence. Ican prevent nothing."
"Give me up--let them wreak their bloody vengeance on my head!"
"I should only betray myself for having concealed you; and it wouldnot save your father's house."
"And if they murder the innocent and unprotected, on whom will theignominy of their blood fall?"
"On me; but I will give you the means of preventing this disgrace. Doyou accept it?"
"Speak!"
"I will give you a disguise; hasten to Kolozsvar and assemble yourcomrades--then return and protect your house. I will await you there,and man to man, in open honourable combat, the strife will no longerbe ignominious."
"Thanks! thanks!" murmured the youth, pressing the Decurio's hand.
"There is not a moment to lose; here is a peasant's mantle--if youshould be interrogated, you have only to show this paszura,[23] andmention my name. Your not knowing the language is of no consequence;my men are accustomed to see Hungarian gentlemen visit me in disguise,and having only seen you by night, they will not recognise you."
[Footnote 23: Everything on which the double-headed eagle--the emblemof the Austrian Government--was painted, engraved, or sculptured, theWallachians call _paszura_.]
Imre hastily took the dress, while the Decurio spoke to the people,made arrangements for the execution of their plans, and pointed outthe way to the castle, promising to follow them immediately.
"Accept my horse as a remembrance," said the young man, turning to theDecurio.
"I accept it, as it would only raise suspicion were you to mount it;but you may recover it again in the field. Haste, and lose no time!If you delay, you will bring mourning on your own head, and disgraceon mine!"
In a few minutes the young man, disguised as a Wallachian peasant, washastening on foot across the hills to Kolozsvar.
* * * * *
It was past midnight.
The inhabitants of the Bardy castle had all retired to rest. The irongate was locked and the windows barred, when suddenly the sound ofdemoniac cries roused the slumberers from their dreams.
"What is that noise?" cried Jozsef Bardy, springing from his bed, andrushing to the window.
"The Olahok!"[24] cried a hussar, who had rushed to his master'sapartments on hearing the sounds.
[Footnote 24: _Olah_, Wallachian--_ok_, plural.]
"The Olah! the Olah!" was echoed through the corridors by theterrified servants.
By the light of a few torches, a hideous crowd was seen before thewindows, armed with scythes and axes, which they were brandishing withfearful menaces.
"Lock all the doors!" cried Jozsef Bardy, with calm presence of mind;"barricade the great entrance, and take the ladies and children to theback rooms. You must not lose your heads, but all assemble together inthe turret-chamber, from whence the whole building may be protected."And, taking down two good rifles from over his bed, he hastened to hiselder brother Tamas's apartments.
He found him already dressed in his richest costume, with his jewelledsabre by his side, and walking calmly up and down the room. Theturret-chamber opened from his apartments, and overlooked the court.
"Have you heard the noise?" asked his brother as he entered.
"I knew it would come," he replied, and coolly continued to pace theroom.
"And are you not preparing for defence?"
"To what purpose?--they will kill us all. I am quite prepared for whatmust inevitably happen."
"But it will not happen if we defend ourselves courageously. We areeight men--the walls of the castle are strong--the besiegers have noguns, and no place to protect them; we may hold out for days, untilassistance comes from Kolozsvar."
"We shall lose," replied Tamas coldly, and without the slightestchange of countenance.
"Then I shall defend the castle myself. I have a wife andchildren--our old grandmother and our sister are here, and I shallprotect them, if I remain alone."
At that instant Barnabas and old Simon entered with the widowedsister.
Barnabas had a huge twenty-pound iron club in his hand; grinding histeeth, and with eyes darting fire, he seemed capable of meetingsingle-handed the whole troop.
He was followed by the widow, with two loaded pistols in her hand, andold Simon, who entreated them not to use violence, or exasperate theenemy.
"Conduct yourselves bravely!" replied the widow, drily; "let us notdie in vain."
"Come with me--we shall send them all to hell!" cried Barnabas,swinging the club in his herculean arm as if it had been a reed.
"Let us not be too hasty," interrupted Jozsef; "we will stand here inthe tower, from whence we can shoot every one that approaches, and ifthey break in, we can meet them on the stairs."
"For Heaven's sake!" cried Simon, "what are you going to do? If youkill one of them, they will massacre us all. Speak to thempeaceably--promise them wine--take them to the cellar--give themmoney--try to pacify them! Nephew Tamas, _you_ will speak to them?"continued the old man, turning to Tamas, who still paced up and down,without the slightest visible emotion.
"Pacification or resistance are equally vain," he replied coldly; "weare inevitably lost!"
"We have no time for delay," said Jozsef impatiently, "take the armsfrom the wall, Barnabas, give one to each servant--let them stand atthe back windows of the house, we two are enough here. Sister, standbetween the windows, that the stones may not hit you; and when youload, do not strike the balls too far in, that our aim may be the moresecure!"
"No! no!--I cannot let you fire," exclaimed the old man, endeavouringto drag Jozsef from the window. "You must not fire yet--only remainquiet."
"Go to
the hurricane, old man! would you have us use holy wateragainst a shower of stones?"
At that instant several large stones were dashed through the windows,breaking the furniture against which they fell.
"Only wait," said Simon, "until I speak with them. I am sure I shallpacify them. I can speak their language, and I know them all--just letme go to them."
"A vain idea! If you sue for mercy they will certainly kill you, butif you show courage, you may bring them to their senses. You hadbetter stay and take a gun."
But the old man was already out of hearing, and, hurrying down stairs,he went out of a back door into the court, which the Wallachians hadnot yet taken possession of.
They were endeavouring to break down one of the stone pillars of theiron gate with their axes and hammers, and had already succeeded inmaking an aperture, through which one of the gang now climbed.
Old Simon recognised him. "Lupuj, my son, what do you want here?" saidthe old man. "Have we ever offended you? Do you forget all that I havedone for you?--how I cured your wife when she was so ill, and got youoff from the military; and how, when your ox died, I gave you two finebullocks to replace it? Do you not know me, my son Lupuj?"
"I am not your son Lupuj now; I am a 'malcontent!'" cried theWallachian, aiming a blow with his heavy hammer at the old man's head.
Uttering a deep groan, Simon fell lifeless to the ground.
The rest of the party saw the scene from the tower.
Barnabas rushed from the room like a maddened tiger, while Jozsef,retiring cautiously behind the embrasure of the window, aimed his gunas they were placing his uncle's head upon a spike, and shot the firstwho raised it. Another seized it, and the next instant he too fell tothe earth; another, and another, as many as attempted to raise thehead, till, finally, none dared approach.
The widow loaded the guns, while Tamas sat quietly in an arm-chair.
Meanwhile Barnabas had hurried to the attics, where several largefragments of iron had been stowed away, and, dragging them to a windowwhich overlooked the entrance, he waited until the gang had assembledround the door, and were trying to break in; when, lifting an enormouspiece with gigantic strength, he dropped it on the heads of thebesiegers.
Fearful cries arose, and the gang, who were at the door, fled rightand left, leaving four or five of their number crushed beneath theponderous mass.
The next moment they returned with redoubled fury, dashing stonesagainst the windows and the roof, while the door resounded with theblows of their clubs.
Notwithstanding the stones which were flying round him, Barnabas stoodat the window dashing down the heavy iron masses, and killing two orthree men every time.
His brother, meanwhile, continued firing from the tower, and not aball was aimed in vain. The besiegers had lost a great number, andbegan to fall back, after fruitless efforts to break in the door, whena footman entered breathless, to inform Barnabas that the Wallachianswere beginning to scale the opposite side of the castle with ladders,and that the servants were unable to resist them.
Barnabas rushed to the spot.
Two servants lay mortally wounded in one of the back rooms, throughthe windows of which the Wallachians were already beginning to enter,while another ladder had been placed against the opposite window,which they were beginning to scale as Barnabas entered.
"Here, wretches!" he roared furiously, and, seizing the ladder withboth hands, shook it so violently that the men were precipitated fromit, and then, lifting it with supernatural strength, he dashed itagainst the opposite one, which broke with the force of the weightthrown against it, the upper part falling backwards with the men uponit, while one of the party remained hanging from the window-sill, and,after immense exertions to gain a footing, he too fell to the earth.
Barnabas rushed into the next room grinding his teeth, his lipsfoaming, and his face of a livid hue: so appalling was his wholeappearance, that one of the gang, who had been the first to enter bythe window, turned pale with terror, and dropped his axe.
Taking advantage of this, Barnabas darted on his enemy, and, dragginghim with irresistible force to the window, he dashed him from it.
"On here! as many as you are," he shouted furiously, the blood gushingfrom his mouth from the blow of a stone. "On! all who wish a fearfuldeath!"
At that instant, a shriek of terror rose within the house. TheWallachians had discovered the little back door which Simon had leftopen, and, stealing through it, were already inside the house, whenthe shrieks of a servant girl gave the besieged notice of theirdanger.
Barnabas, seizing his club, hurried in the direction of the sounds; hemet his brother on the stairs, who had likewise heard the cry, andhastened thither with his gun in his hand, accompanied by the widow.
"Go, sister!" said Jozsef, "take my wife and children to the attics;we will try to guard the staircase step by step. Kiss them all for me.If we die, the villains will put us all in one grave--we shall meetagain!"
The widow retired.
The two brothers silently pressed hands, and then, standing on thesteps, awaited their enemies. They did not wait long.
The bloodhounds, with shouts of vengeance, rushed on the narrow stonestairs.
"Hah! thus near I love to have you, dogs of hell!" cried Barnabas,raising his iron club with both hands, and dealing such blows rightand left, that none whom it reached rose again. The stairs werecovered with the dead and wounded, while their death-cries, and thesound of the heavy club, echoed fearfully through the vaultedbuilding.
The foremost of the gang retreated as precipitately as they hadadvanced, but were continually pressed forward again by the numbersfrom behind, while Barnabas drove them back unweariedly, cutting anopening through them with the blows of his club.
He had already beaten them back nearly to the bottom of the stairs,when one of the gang, who had concealed himself in a niche, piercedhim through the back with a spike.
Dashing his club amongst the retreating crowd, he turned with a cry ofrage, and, seizing his murderer by the shoulders, dragged him downwith him to the ground.
The first four who rushed to help the murderer were shot dead byJozsef Bardy, who, when he had fired off both his muskets, stilldefended his prostrate brother with the butt-end of one, until he wasoverpowered and disarmed; after which a party of them carried him outto the iron cross, and crucified him on it amidst the most shockingtortures.
On trying to separate the other brother from his murderer, they foundthem both dead. With his last strength Barnabas had choked his enemy,whom he still held firmly in his deadly grip, and they were obliged tocut off his hand in order to disengage the Wallachian's body.
Tamas, the eldest brother, now alone survived. Seated in hisarm-chair, he calmly awaited his enemies, with a large silverchandelier burning on the table before him.
As the noise approached his chamber, he drew from its jewelled sheathhis broad curved sword, and, placing it on the table before him,proceeded coolly to examine the ancient blade, which was inscribedwith unknown characters.
At last the steps were at the door; the handle was turned--it had noteven been locked.
The magnate rose, and, taking his sword from the table, he stoodsilently and calmly before his enemies, who rushed upon him withfearful oaths, brandishing their weapons still reeking with the bloodof his brothers.
The nobleman stood motionless as a statue until they came within twopaces of him; when suddenly the bright black steel gleamed above hishead, and the foremost man fell at his feet with his skull split tothe chin. The next received a deep gash in the shoulder of hisoutstretched arm; but not a word escaped the magnate's lips, hiscountenance retained its cold, and stern expression, as he looked athis enemies in calm disdain, as if to say,--"Even in combat a noblemanis worth ten boors."
Warding off with the skill of a professed swordsman, every blow aimedat him, he coolly measured his own thrusts, inflicting severe woundson his enemies' faces and heads; but the more he evaded them, the morefurious they became. At
last he received a severe wound in the legfrom a scythe, and fell on one knee; but, without evincing theslightest pain, he still continued fighting with the savage mob,until, after a long and obstinate struggle, he fell, without a murmur,or even a death-groan.
The enraged gang cut his body to pieces, and in a few minutes they hadhoisted the head on his own sword. Even then the features retainedtheir haughty and contemptuous expression.
He was the last man of the family with whom they had to combat, butmore than a hundred of their own band lay stretched in the court andbefore the windows, covering the stairs and rooms with heaps ofbodies; and when the shouts of triumph ceased for an instant, thegroans of the wounded and the dying were heard from every side.
* * * * *
None now remained but women and children.
When the Wallachians broke into the castle, the widow had taken themall to the attics, leaving the door open, that her brothers might finda refuge in case they were forced to retreat; and here the weakermembers of the family awaited the issue of the combat which was tobring them life or death, listening breathlessly to the uproar, andendeavouring, from its confused sounds, to determine good or evil.
At last the voices died away, and the hideous cries of the besiegersceased. The trembling women believed that the Wallachians had beendriven out, and, breathing more freely, each awaited with impatiencethe approach of brother--husband--sons.
At last a heavy step was heard on the stairs leading to the garret.
"That is Barnabas's step!" cried the widow joyfully, and, stillholding the pistols in her hand, she ran to the door of the garret.
Instead of her expected brother, a savage form, drunken with blood,strode towards her, his countenance burning with rage and triumph.
The widow started back, uttering a shriek of terror, and then, withthat unaccountable courage of desperation, she aimed one of thepistols at the Wallachian's breast, who instantly fell backwards onone of his comrades, who followed close behind. The other pistol shedischarged into her own bosom.
And now we must draw a veil over the scene that followed.
What happened there may not be witnessed by human eyes. Suffice it tosay, they murdered every one, women and children, with the mostrefined and brutal cruelty, and then threw their dead bodies out ofthe window from which Barnabas had dashed down the iron fragments onthe besiegers' heads.
They left the old grandmother to the last, that she might witness theextermination of her whole family. Happily for her, her eyes hadceased to distinguish the light of the sun, and ere long the light ofan eternal glory had risen upon them.
The Wallachians then dug a common grave for the bodies, and threw themall in together. The little one, whom his parents loved so well, theycast in alive, his nurse having escaped from the attics and carriedhim down stairs, where they had been overtaken by the savages.
"There are only eleven here!" cried one of the gang, who had countedthe bodies; "one of them must be still alive somewhere--there ought tobe twelve!" and then they once more rushed through the empty rooms,overturning all the furniture, and cutting up and breaking everythingthey met with. They searched the garrets and every corner of thecellars, but without success.
At last a yell of triumph was heard. One of them had discovered a doorwhich, being painted of the same colour as the walls, had hithertoescaped their observation. It concealed a small apartment in theturret. With a few blows of their axes it was broken open, and theyrushed in.
"Ah! a rare booty!" cried the foremost of the ruffians, while, withbloodthirsty curiosity, the others pressed round to see the newvictim.
There lay the little orphan with the golden hair; her eyes wereclosed, and a death-like hue had overspread her beautiful features.
Her aunt, with an instinctive foreboding, had concealed her here whenshe took the others to the attics.
The orphan grasped a sharp knife in her hand, with which she hadattempted to kill herself; and when her fainting hands refused thefearful service, she had swooned in despair.
"Ah!" cried the Wallachians, in savage admiration, their bloodthirstycountenances assuming a still more hellish expression.
"This is common booty!" cried several voices together.
"A beautiful girl! A noble lady! ha, ha, ha! She will just suit thetattered Wallachians!" and with their foul and bloody hands, theyseized the young girl by her fair slight arms.
"Ha! what is going on here?" thundered a voice from behind.
The Wallachians looked round.
A figure stood among them fully a head taller than all the rest. Hewore a brass helmet, in which a deep cleft was visible, and held inhis left hand a short Roumin sword. His features bore the ancientRoman character.
"The Decurio!" they murmured, making way for him.
"What is going on here?" he repeated; and seeing the fainting girl inthe arms of a Wallachian, he ordered him to lay her down.
"She is one of our enemies," replied the savage insolently.
"Silence, knave! Does one of the Roumin nation seek enemies in women?lay her down instantly."
"Not so, leader," interrupted Lupuj; "our laws entitle us to adivision of the spoil. This girl is our booty; she belongs to us afterthe victory."
"I know our laws better than you do, churl! Due division of spoil isjust and fair; but we cast lots for what cannot be divided."
"True, leader: a horse or an ox cannot be divided, and for them wecast lots; but in this case"--
"I have said it _cannot_, and I should like to know who dares to sayit _can_!"
Lupuj knew the Decurio too well to proffer another syllable, and therest turned silently away from the girl; one voice alone was heard toexclaim, "It can!"
"Who dares to say that?" cried the Decurio; "let him come forward!"
A young Wallachian, with long plaited hair, confronted the Decurio.He was evidently intoxicated, and replied, striking his breast withhis fist: "_I_ said so."
Scarcely had the words escaped his lips, than the Decurio, raising hisleft hand, severed the contradictor's head at one stroke from hisbody; and as it fell back, the lifeless trunk dropped on its kneesbefore the Decurio, with its arms round him, as if in supplication.
"Dare any one still say it can?" asked Numa, with merciless rigour.
The Wallachians turned silently away.
"Put the horses immediately to the carriage; the girl must be placedin it, and brought to Topanfalva. Whoever has the good fortune ofwinning her, has a right to receive her as I confide her to you; butif any one of you should dare to offend her in the slightest degree,even by a look or a smile, remember _this_, and take example from it,"continued the Decurio, pointing with his sword to the headless body ofthe young man. "And now you may go--destroy and pillage."
At these words the band scattered right and left, leaving the Decuriowith the fainting girl, whom he lifted into the carriage and confidedto some faithful retainers of the family, pointing out the road acrossthe hills.
In half an hour the castle was in flames; and the Wallachians,descending into the cellars, had knocked out the bottoms of the casks,and bathed in the sea of flowing wine and brandy, singing wild songs,while the fire burst from every window, enveloping the blackenedwalls; after which the revellers departed, leaving their dead, andthose who were too helplessly intoxicated to follow them.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, they brought the young girl to the Decurio's house; and aseach man considered that he had an equal right to the prize, theykept a vigilant eye upon her, and none dared offend her so much as bya look.
When the Decurio arrived, they all crowded into the house with him,filling the rooms, as well as the entrance and porch.
Having laid out the spoil before them on the ground, the leaderproceeded to divide it into equal shares, retaining for himself theportion of ten men, after which most of the band dispersed to theirhomes; but a good many remained, greedily eyeing their stillunappropriated victim,
who lay pale and motionless as the dead on thecouch of lime-boughs, where they had laid her.
"You are waiting, I suppose, to cast lots for the girl?" said Numadrily.
"Certainly," replied Lupuj, with an insolent leer; "and his she willbe who casts highest. If two, or ten, or twenty of us should cast thesame, we have an equal right to her."
"I tell you only one can have her," interrupted Numa sternly.
"Then those who win must cast again among each other."
"Casting the die will not do: we may throw all day long, and two mayremain at the end."
"Well, let us play cards for her."
"I cannot allow that: the more cunning will deceive the simpler."
"Well, write our names upon bricks, and throw them all into a barrel;and whichever name you draw will take away the girl."
"I can say what name I please, for none of you can read."
The Wallachian shook his head impatiently.
"Well, propose something yourself, Decurio."
"I will. Let us try which of us can give the best proof of courage anddaring; and whoever can do that, shall have the girl, for he bestdeserves her."
"Well said!" cried the men unanimously. "Let us each relate what wehave done, and then you can judge which among us is the boldest."
"I killed the first Bardy in the court, in sight of his family."
"I broke in the door, when that terrible man was dashing down the ironon our heads."
"But it was I who pierced his heart."
"I mounted the stairs first."
"I fought nearly half an hour with the noble in the cloth of gold."
And thus they continued. Each man, according to his own account, wasthe first and the bravest--each had performed miracles of valour.
"You have all behaved with great daring; but it is impossible now toprove what has happened. The proof must be given here, by all of youtogether, before my eyes, indisputably."
"Well, tell us how," said Lupuj impatiently, always fearing that theDecurio was going to deceive them.
"Look here," said Numa, drawing a small cask from beneath the bed--andin doing so he observed that the young girl half opened her eyes, asshe glanced at him, and then closed them. She was awake, and had heardall.
As he stooped down, Numa whispered gently in her ear: "Fear nothing,"and then drew the cask into the middle of the room.
The Wallachians stared with impatient curiosity as he knocked out thebottom of the cask with a hatchet.
"This cask contains gunpowder," continued the Decurio. "We will lighta match and place it in the middle of the cask, and whoever remainslongest in the room is undoubtedly the most courageous; for there isenough here to blow up not only this house, but the whole of theneighbouring village."
At this proposition several of the men began to murmur.
"If any are afraid, they are not obliged to remain," said the Decuriodrily.
"I agree," said Lupuj doggedly, "I will remain here; and perhaps,after all, it is poppy-seeds you have got there--it looks very likethem."
The Decurio stooped down, and taking a small quantity between hisfingers, threw it into the Wallachian's pipe, which immediatelyexploded, causing him to stagger backwards, and the next instant hestood with a blackened visage, sans beard and moustache, amidst thejeers and laughter of his comrades.
This only exasperated him the more.
"I will stay for all that," he exclaimed; and lifting up the pipewhich he had dropped, he walked over and lit it at the burning matchwhich the Decurio was placing in the cask.
Upon this, two-thirds of the men left the room.
The rest assembled round the cask with much noise and bravado,swearing by heaven and earth that they would stay until the match wasburned out; but the more they swore, the more they looked at theburning match, the flame of which was slowly approaching thegunpowder.
For some minutes their courage remained unshaken; but after that theyceased to boast, and began to look at each other in silentconsternation, while their faces grew paler every instant. At last oneor two rose and stood aloof; the others followed their example, andsome grinding their teeth with rage, others chattering with terror,they all began to leave the room.
Only two remained beside the cask: Numa, who stood with his armsfolded, leaning against the foot of the bed; and Lupuj, who wassitting on the rim of the cask with his back turned to the danger, andsmoking furiously.
As soon as they were alone, the latter glanced behind him, and sawthat the flame was within an inch of the powder.
"I'll tell you what, Decurio," he said, springing up: "we are only twoleft, don't let us make fools of each other; let us come to anunderstanding on this matter."
"If you are tired of waiting, I can press the match lower."
"This is no jest, Numa; you are risking your own life. How can youwish to send us both to hell for the sake of a pale girl? But I'lltell you what--I'll give her up to you if you will only promise thatshe shall be mine when you are tired of her."
"Remain here and win her--if you dare."
"To what purpose?" said the Wallachian, in a whining voice; and in hisimpatience he began to tear his clothes and stamp with his feet, likea petted child.
"What I have said stands good," said the Decurio; "whoever remainslongest has the sole right to the lady."
"Well, I will stay, of course; but what do I gain by it? I know youwill stay too, and then the devil will have us both; and I speak notonly for myself when I say I do not wish that."
"If you do not wish it, you had better be gone."
"Well, I don't care--if you will give me a golden mark."
"Not the half: stay if you like it."
"Decurio, this is madness! The flame will reach the powderimmediately."
"I see it."
"Well, say a dollar."
"Not a whit."
"May the seventy-seven limbed thunderbolt strike you on St. Michael'sday!" roared the Wallachian fiercely, as he rushed to the door; butafter he had gone out, he once more thrust his head in and cried:--
"Will you give even a florin? I am not gone yet."
"Nor have I removed the match; you may come back."
The Wallachian slammed the door, and ran for his life, till exhaustedand breathless he sank under a tree, where he lay with his tunic overhis head, and his ears covered with his hands, only now and thenraising his head nervously, to listen for the awful explosion whichwas to blow up the world.
Meanwhile Numa coolly removed the match, which was entirely burntdown; and throwing it into the grate, he stepped over to the bed, andwhispered in the young girl's ear: "You are free!"
Tremblingly she raised herself in the bed, and taking the Decurio'slarge and sinewy hands within her own, she murmured: "Be merciful! Ohear my prayer, and kill me!"
The Decurio stroked the fair head of the lovely suppliant.
"Poor child!" he replied gently, "you have nothing to fear; nobodywill hurt you now."
"You have saved me from these fearful people--now save me fromyourself!"
"You have nothing to fear from me," replied the Dacian proudly; "Ifight for liberty alone, and you may rest as securely within mythreshold as on the steps of the altar. When I am absent you need haveno anxiety, for these walls are impregnable; and if any one shoulddare offend you by the slightest look, that moment shall be the lastof his mortal career. And when I am at home you have nothing to fear,for woman's image never dwelt within my heart. Accept my poor couch,and may your rest be sweet!--Imre Bardy slept on it last night."
"Imre!" exclaimed the girl, starting. "You have seen him, then?--oh!where is he?"
The Decurio hesitated. "He should not have delayed so long," hemurmured, pressing his hand against his brow; "all would have beenotherwise."
"Oh! let me go to him, if you know where he is."
"I do not know; but I am certain that he will come here if he isalive--indeed, he must come."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because he will
seek you."
"Did he then speak--before you?"
"As he lay wounded on that couch, he pronounced your name in hisdreams. Are you not that Jolanka Bardy whom they call 'The angel'? Iknew you by your golden locks."
The young girl cast down her eyes. "Then you think he will come?" shesaid in a low voice. "And my relations?"
"He will come as soon as possible; and now you must take some food andrest. Do not think about your relations now; they are all in a safeplace--nobody can hurt them more."
The Decurio brought some refreshment, laid a small prayer-book on thepillow, and left the orphan by herself.
The poor girl opened the prayer-book, and her tears fell likerain-drops on the blessed page; but, overcome by the fatigue andterror she had undergone, her head ere long sank gently back, and sheslept calmly and sweetly the sleep of exhausted innocence.
As evening closed, the Decurio returned; and, softly approaching thebed, looked long and earnestly at the fair sleeper's face, until twolarge tears stood unconsciously in his eyes.
The Roumin hastily brushed away the unwonted moisture; and as ifafraid of the feeling which had stolen into his breast, he hastenedfrom the room, and laid himself upon his woollen rug before the opendoor.
* * * * *
The deserted castle still burned on, shedding a ghastly light on thesurrounding landscape, while the deepest silence reigned around, onlybroken now and then by an expiring groan, or the hoarse song of adrunken reveller.
Day was beginning to dawn, as a troop of horsemen galloped furiouslytowards the castle from the direction of Kolozsvar.
They were Imre and his comrades.
Silently and anxiously they pursued their course, their eyes fixedupon one point, as they seemed to fly rather than gallop along theroad.
"We are too late!" exclaimed one of the party at last, pointing to adim red smoke against the horizon; "your castle is burning!"
Without returning an answer, Imre spurred his panting horse to aswifter pace. A turn in the road suddenly brought the castle to theirview, its blackened walls still burning, while the red smoke rose highagainst the side of the hill.
The young man uttered a fierce cry of despair, and galloped madly downthe declivity. In less than a quarter of an hour he stood before theruined walls.
"Where is my father? where are my family? where is my bride?" heshrieked in frantic despair, brandishing his sword over the head of ahalf-drunken Wallachian, who was leaning against the ruined portico.
The latter fell on his knees, imploring mercy, and declaring that itwas not he who had killed them.
"Then they are dead!" exclaimed the unhappy youth, as, half-choked byhis sobs, he fell forward on his horse's neck.
Meanwhile his companions had ridden up, and immediately surrounded theWallachian, whom, but for Imre's interference, they would have cutdown.
"Lead us to where you have buried them. Are they _all_ dead?" hecontinued; "have you not left one alive? Accursed be the sun thatrises after such a night!"
The Wallachian pointed to a large heap of freshly-raised mould. "Theyare all there!" he said.
Imre fell from his horse without another word, as if struck down.
His companions removed him to a little distance, where the grass wasleast red.
They then began to dig twelve graves with their swords.
Imre watched them in silence. He seemed unconscious what they wereabout.
When they had finished the graves they proceeded to open the largepit, but the sight was too horrible, and they carried Imre away byforce. He could not have looked on what was there and still retainedhis senses.
In a short time, one of his comrades approached and told him thatthere were only eleven bodies in the grave.
"Then one of them must be alive!" cried Imre, a slight gleam of hopepassing over his pale features; "which is it?--speak! Is there not ayoung girl with golden locks among them?"
"I know not," stammered his comrade, in great embarrassment.
"You do not know?--go and look again."
His friend hesitated.
"Let me go--I must know," said Imre impatiently, as the young manendeavoured to detain him.
"O stay, Imre, you cannot look on them; they are all--headless!"
"My God!" exclaimed the young man, covering his face with both hishands, and, bursting into tears, he threw himself down with his faceupon the earth.
His comrades questioned the Wallachian closely as to what he knewabout the young girl. First he returned no answer, pretending to bedrunk and not to understand; but on their promising to spare his life,on the sole condition that he would speak the truth, he confessed thatshe had been carried away to the mountains, where the band were tocast lots for her.
"I must go!" said Imre, starting as if from a trance.
"Whither?" inquired his comrades.
"To seek her! Take off your dress," he continued, turning to theWallachian, "you may have mine in exchange;" and, hastily putting onthe tunic, he concealed his pistols in the girdle beneath it.
"We will follow you," said his comrades, taking up their arms; "wewill seek her from village to village."
"No, no, I must go alone! I shall find her more easily alone. If I donot return, avenge this for me," he said, pointing to the moat; then,turning to the Wallachian, he added sternly, "I have found beneathyour girdle a gold medallion which my grandmother always woresuspended from her neck, and by which I know you to be one of hermurderers, and, had I not promised to spare your life, you should nowreceive the punishment that you deserve. Keep him here," he said tohis comrades, "until I have crossed the hills, and then let him go."
And taking leave of his friends, he cast one glance at the elevenheaps, and at the burning castle of his ancestors, and hastenedtowards the mountains.
* * * * *
The hoary autumn nights had dyed the leaves of the forest. The wholecountry looked as if it had been washed in blood.
Deep amidst the wildest forest the path suddenly descends into anarrow valley surrounded by steep rocks, at the foot of which lies alittle village half concealed among the trees.
It seemed as if the settlers there had only cleared sufficient groundto build their dwellings, leaving all the rest a dense mass of forest.Apart from the rest, on the top of a rock, stood a cottage, which,unlike the others, was constructed entirely of large blocks of stone,and only approachable by a small path cut in the rock.
A young man ascended this path. He was attired in a peasant's garb,and although he evidently had travelled far, his step was light andfleet. When he had ascended about half way, he was suddenly stopped byan armed Wallachian, who had been kneeling before a shrine in therock, and, on seeing the stranger, rose and stood in his path.
The latter pronounced the Decurio's name, and produced his pazsura.
The Wallachian examined it on every side, and then stepped back to letthe stranger pass, after which, he once more laid down his scythe andcap, and knelt before the shrine.
The stranger knocked at the Decurio's door, which was locked; and anarmed Wallachian appeared from behind the rock, and informed him thatthe Decurio was not at home, only his wife.
"His wife?" exclaimed the stranger in surprise.
"Yes, that pale girl who fell to him by lot."
"And she is his wife?"
"He told us so himself, and swore that if any of us dared so much aslift his eye upon her, he would send him to St. Nicholas in paradise."
"Can I not see her?"
"I would not advise you; for if the Decurio hears of it, he will maketwo halves of you; but you may go round to the window if youlike--only let me get out of the way first, that the Decurio may notfind me here."
The stranger hastened to the window, and, looking in, he saw theyoung girl seated on an arm-chair made of rough birch boughs, with alittle prayer-book on her knee; her fair arm supporting her head,while a mass of golden ringlets half veiled her face, which wa
s paleas an alabaster statue; the extreme sadness of its expressionrendering her beauty still more touching.
"Jolanka!" exclaimed the stranger passionately.
She started at the well-known voice, and, uttering a cry of joy,rushed to the window.
"Oh, Imre!" she murmured, "are you come at last!"
"Can I not enter? can I not speak with you?"
The young girl hastened to unbar the door, which was locked from theinside, and as Imre entered she threw herself into his arms, while hepressed her fondly to his heart.
The Wallachian, who had stolen to the window, stood aghast withterror, and, as soon as the Decurio arrived, he ran to meet him, andrelated, with vehement gesticulations, how the girl had thrown herselfinto the peasant's arms.
"And how did you know that?" asked Numa, coldly.
"I saw them through the window."
"And how dared you look through my window? Did I not forbid you? Downon your knees instantly, and pray!"
The Wallachian fell on his knees, and clasped his hands.
"Rebel! you deserve the punishment of death for having disobeyed mycommands; and if you ever dare to open your lips on the subject,depend upon it, you shall not escape!" And with these words, he strodeaway, leaving the astonished informer on his knees, in which posturehe remained for some time afterwards, not daring to raise his headuntil the Decurio's steps had died away.
As Numa entered the house, the lovers hastened to meet him. For aninstant or two he stood at the threshold, regarding the young manwith a look of silent reproach. "Why did you come so late?" he asked.
Imre held out his hand, but the Decurio did not accept it.
"The blood of your family is on my hand," he whispered. "You have letdishonour come on me, and mourning on yourself."
The young man's head sank on his breast in silent anguish.
"Take his hand," said Jolanka, in her low, sweet accents; and then,turning to Imre, "He saved your life--he saved us both, and he willrescue our family too."
Imre looked at her in astonishment.
The Decurio seized his arm, and drew him aside. "She does not knowthat they are dead," he whispered; "she was not with them, and knowsnothing of their fate; and I have consoled her with the idea that theyare all prisoners. She must never know the horrors of that fearfulnight."
"But sooner or later she will hear it."
"Never! you must leave the place and the kingdom. You must go toTurkey."
"My way lies towards Hungary."
"You must not think of it. Evil days await that country; your prophetsdo not see them, but I know, and see them clearly. Go to Turkey; Iwill give you letters by which you may pass in security throughWallachia and Moldavia; and here is a purse of gold--do not scruple toaccept it, for it is your own, it belonged to _them_. Promise me, forher sake," he continued earnestly, pointing to Jolanka, "that you willnot go to Hungary."
Imre hesitated. "I cannot promise what I am not sure I shall fulfil;but I shall remember your advice."
Numa took the hands of the two lovers, and, gazing long and earnestlyon their faces, he said, in a voice of deep feeling, "You love oneanother?"
They pressed his hand in silence.
"You will be happy--you will forget your misfortunes: God bless andguide you on your way! Take these letters, and keep the direct road toBrasso,[25] by the Saxon-land.[26] You will find free passageeverywhere, and never look behind until the last pinnacles of thesnowy mountains are beyond your sight. Go! we will not take leave, nota word--let us forget each other!"
[Footnote 25: Brasso, or Kronstadt, a town in the south-east ofTransylvania, on the frontiers of Wallachia.]
[Footnote 26: A district inhabited by a colony of Saxons.]
The Decurio watched the lovers till they were out of sight; and calledto them, even when they could hear him no longer, "Do not go towardsHungary!"
He then entered his house. The prayer-book lay open as the young girlhad left it; the page was still damp with her tears. Numa's handtrembled, as he kissed the volume fervently and placed it in hisbosom.
When night came on, the Roumin lay down on his wolfskin couch, wherethe golden-haired maiden, and her lover before her, had slept; but itseemed as if they had stolen his rest--he could not close his eyesthere, so he rose and went out to the porch, where he spread his rugbefore the open door; but it was long ere he could sleep--there was anunwonted feeling at his heart, something like happiness, yetinexpressibly sad; and, buried in deep reverie, he lay with his eyesfixed on the dark blue starry vault above him till past midnight.Suddenly he thought he heard the report of some fire-arms at a greatdistance, and at the same moment two stars sank below the horizon.Numa thought of the travellers, and a voice seemed to whisper, "Theyare now happy!"
* * * * *
The moon had risen high in the heavens, when the Decurio was rousedfrom his sleep by heavy footsteps, and five or six Wallachians, amongwhom was Lupuj, stood before him.
"We have brought two enemies' heads," said the latter, with a darklook at the Decurio; "pay us their worth!" and, taking two heads fromhis pouch, he laid them on Numa's mat.
The Wallachians watched their leader's countenance with sharp,suspicious glances.
Numa recognised the two heads by the light of the moon. They werethose of Imre and Jolanka, but his features did not betray theslightest emotion.
"You will know them, probably," continued Lupuj. "The young magnate,who escaped us at the pass, came for the girl in your absence, and atthe same time stole your money, and, what is more, we found yourpazsura upon him also."
"Who killed them?" asked the Decurio, in his usual calm voice.
"None of us," replied the Wallachian; "as we rushed upon them, theyoung magnate drew two pistols from his girdle, and shot the girlthrough the head first, and himself afterwards."
"Were you all there?"
"And more of us besides."
"Go back and bring the rest. I will divide the money you have found onthem among you. Make haste; and should one of you remain behind, hisshare will be divided among the rest."
The Wallachians hastened to seek their comrades with cries of joy.
The Decurio then locked the door, and, throwing himself upon theground beside the two heads, he kissed them an hundred times, andsobbed like a child.
"I warned you not to go towards Hungary!" he said bitterly. "Why didyou not hear me, unhappy children? why did you not take my word?" andhe wept over his enemies' heads as if he had been their father.
He then rose, his eyes darting fire, and, shaking his terrible fist,he cried, in a voice hoarse with rage, "Czine mintye!"[27]
[Footnote 27: _Czine mintye!_--a Wallachian term signifying revenge.]
In a few hours, the Wallachians had assembled before the Decurio'shouse. They were about fifty or sixty, all wild, fearful-looking men.
Numa covered the two heads with a cloth, and laid them on the bed,after which he opened the door.
Lupuj entered last.
"Lock the door," said Numa, when they were all in; "we must not beinterrupted;" and, making them stand in a circle, he looked round atthem all, one by one.
"Are you all here?" he asked at last.
"Not one is absent."
"Do you consider yourselves all equally deserving of sharing _thebooty_?"
"All of us."
"It was you," he continued, turning to Lupuj, "who struck down the oldman?"
"It was."
"And you who pierced the magnate with a spike?"
"You are right, leader."
"And you really killed all the women in the castle?" turning to athird.
"With my own hand."
"And one and all of you can boast of having massacred, and plundered,and set on fire?"
"All! all!" they cried, striking their breasts.
"Do not lie before Heaven. See! your wives are listening at thewindow to what you say, and will betray you if you do not speak thetruth."
"We spe
ak truth!"
"It is well!" said the leader, as he calmly approached the bed; and,seating himself on it, uncovered the two heads and placed them on hisknees. "Where did you put their bodies?" he asked.
"We cut them in pieces, and strewed them on the highroad."
There was a short silence. Numa's breathing became more and moreoppressed, and his large chest heaved convulsively. "Have you prayedyet?" he asked, in an altered voice.
"Not yet, leader. What should we pray for?" said Lupuj.
"Fall down on your knees and pray, for this is the last morning whichwill dawn on any of you again."
"Are you in your senses, leader? What are you going to do?"
"I am going to purge the Roumin nation of a set of ruthless murderersand brigands. Miserable wretches! instead of glory, you have broughtdishonour and disgrace upon our arms wherever you have appeared. Whilethe brave fought on the field of battle, you slaughtered their wivesand children; while they risked their lives before the cannon's mouth,you attacked the houses of the sleepers, and robbed and massacred thehelpless and the innocent. Fall down on your knees and pray for yoursouls, for the angel of death stands over you, to blot out your memoryfrom among the Roumin people!"
The last words were pronounced in a fearful tone. Numa was no longerthe cold, unmoved statue he had hitherto appeared; he was like a fierygenius of wrath, whose very breath was destruction.
The Wallachians fell upon their knees in silent awe, while the women,who had been standing outside, rushed shrieking down the rocks.
The Decurio drew a pistol from his breast, and approached the cask ofgunpowder.
With a fearful howl, they rushed upon him--the shriek of despair washeard for an instant, then a terrible explosion, which caused therocks to tremble, while the flame rose with a momentary flash amidstclouds of smoke and dust, scaring the beasts of the forest, andscattering stones and beams, and hundreds of dismembered limbs, farthrough the valley, and over the houses of the terrified inhabitants!
When the smoke had dissipated, a heap of ruins stood in the place ofNuma's dwelling!
* * * * *
The sun arose and smiled upon the earth, which was strewed with thelast leaves of autumn, but where were those who had assembled at thespring-time of the year?
The evening breeze whispered mournfully through the ruined walls, andstrewed the faded leaves upon eleven grassy mounds!
* * * * *
The pen trembles in my hand--my heart sickens at the recital of suchmisery.
Would that I could believe it an imagination--the ghastly horror of afevered brain!
Would that I could bid my gentle readers check the falling tear, ortell them: "Start not with horror, it is but romance--the creation ofsome fearful dream--let us awake, and see it no more!"