Chapter 79
"And with the news that your neighbors died suddenly and could not write another."
"Then you need have no fear as to how much money you will get in place of what they stole. You may go off with your daughter to Tartary, where no one will prosecute you."
"Excellent--couldn't be better. Leave the rest to me. Two days later Kandur will have no need to indulge in such work."
Then he began to count on his fingers, as if he were reckoning to himself.
"Well, in the first place, I get money--in the second, I have my revenge--in the third, I take away Czipra,--in the fourth, I shall have my fill of human blood,--in the fifth, I get money again.--It shall be done."
The two shook hands on the bargain. The robber left by the same door through which he had entered; Sarvolgyi went to bed, like one who has done his business well; and in the corridor the gypsies still played the newest waltz, which Melanie and Madame Balnokhazy were enjoying with flushed faces amidst the gay a.s.sembly.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE ENCHANTMENT OF LOVE
How many secrets there are under the sun, awaiting discovery!
Books have been written about the superst.i.tions of nations long since pa.s.sed away: men of science have collected the enchantments of people from all quarters of the globe: yet of one thing they have not spoken yet: of that unending myth, which lives unceasingly and is born again in woman's heart and in the heated atmosphere of love.
Sweet are the enchantments of love!
"If I drink unseen from thy gla.s.s, and thou dost drain it after me:--thou drinkest love therefrom, and shalt pine for me, darling, as I have pined for thee.
"If at night I awake in dreams of thee and turn my pillow under my head: thou too wilt have as sweet dreams of me, as I of thee, my darling.
"If I bind my ring to a lock of thy hair thou hast given me, and cast the same into a gla.s.s, as often as it beats against the side of the gla.s.s, so many years wilt thou love me, darling.
"If I can sew a lock of my hair into the edge of thy linen garment, thy heart will
"If, in thinking of thee, I p.r.i.c.ked my finger, thou wert then faithless to me, darling.
"If the door opens of itself, thou wert then thinking of me, and thy sigh opened the door, my darling.
"If a star shoots in the sky, and I suddenly utter thy name as it shoots, thou must then at once think of me, darling.
"If my ear tingles, I hear news of thee: if my cheeks burn, thou art speaking of me, my darling.
"If my scissors fall down and remain upright, I shall see thee soon, darling.
"If the candle runs down upon me, then thou dost love another, my darling.
"If my ring turns upon my finger, then thou wilt be the cause of my death, darling."
In every object, in every thought lives the mythology of love, like the old-world deities with which poets personified gra.s.s, wood, stream, ocean and sky.
The petals of the flowers speak of it, ask whether he loves or not: the birds of song on the house-tops: everything converses of love: and what maiden is there who does not believe what they say?
Poor maidens!
If they but knew how little men deserved that the world of prose should receive its polytheism of love from them!
Poor Czipra!
What a slave she was to her master!
Her slavery was greater than that of the Creole maiden whose every limb grows tired in the service of her master:--every thought of hers served her lord.
From morn till even, nothing but hope, envy, tender flattery, trembling anxiety, the ecstasy of delight, the bitterness of resignation, the burning ravings of pa.s.sion, and cold despair, striving unceasingly with each other, interchanging, gaining new sustenance from every word, every look of the youth she wors.h.i.+pped.
And then from twilight till dawn ever the same struggle, even in dreams.
"If I were thy dog, you would not treat me so."
That is what she once said to Lorand.
And why? Perhaps because he pa.s.sed her without so much as shaking hands with her.
And at another time:
"Were I in Heaven, I could not be happier."
Perhaps a fleeting embrace had made her happy again.
How little is enough to bring happiness or sorrow to poor maidens.
One day an old gypsy woman came by chance into the courtyard.
In the country it is not the custom to drive away these poor vagrants: they receive corn, and sc.r.a.ps of meat: they must live, too.
Then they tell fortunes. Who would not wish to have his fortune so cheaply.
And the gypsy woman's deceitful eye very soon finds out whose fortune to tell, and how to tell it.
But Czipra was not glad to see her.
She was annoyed at the idea that the woman might recognize her by her red-brown complexion, and her burning black eyes, and might betray her origin before the servants. She tried to escape notice.
But the gypsy woman did remark the beautiful girl and addressed her as "my lady."
"I kiss your dear little feet, my lady."
"My lady? Don't you see I am a servant, and cook in the kitchen: my sleeves are tucked up and I wear an ap.r.o.n."
"But surely not. A serving maid does not hold her head so upright and cannot show her anger so. If your ladys.h.i.+p frowns on me I feel like hiding in the corner, just to escape from the anger in your eyes."