Chapter 97
Lorand was standing there with clasped hands between his two dear dead ones.
On the morrow at dawn Lorand rose for his journey and stepped into the cart with a closed lead coffin. So he took home his dead bride.
The second letter which Topandy had written to his mother, the sealing of which had sealed his own fate, had not been posted, and could not have prepared them for his coming.
At home they had received only the first letter.
When that letter of good tidings arrived it caused feelings of intoxicated delight and triumph throughout the whole house.
After all they loved him still best of all. He was the favorite child of his mother and grandmother. No word of Desiderius is required for his heart was already united to his darling: and good f.a.n.n.y was doubly happy in the idea that she would not be the only happy woman in the house.
With what joy they awaited him!
Could he ever have doubted that the one he loved would be loved by all?--no need to speak of her virtues: everybody knew them: all he need say was "I love her."
It was certainly very well he did not send his mother that letter, in which he had written of Czipra and requested his mother's blessing:--well that he had not wounded the dearest mother's heart with those final words--"but if you curse her whom I love--"
Curse her whom he loves!
Why should they do so? That letter brought a holiday to the house. They arranged the country dwelling afresh: Desiderius took up his residence in the town, handing over to his elder brother his birthright.
The eldest lady put off her mourning. Lorand's bride must not see anything that could recall sad thoughts. Everything sad was buried under the earth.
Desiderius could relate so much that was pleasant of the gypsy girl: Lorand's letters during the past ten years of silence always spoke of the poor despised diamond, whose faithful attachment had been the sunny side of Lorand's life. They read the bundles of letters again and again: it was a study for the two mothers. Where Lorand had been giving merely a pa.s.sing hint, they could make great explanations, all pointing to Czipra.
Providence had ordered it so!
After the first meeting in the inn, it had all been ordained that Lorand should save Czipra from the murderer's knife, in order to be
... Why the gypsy girl was happy already.
Topandy's letter informed them that, immediately after the despatch of the letter, Lorand would wed Czipra, and they would come home together to the house of his parents.
So the day was known, they might even reckon the hour when they would arrive.
Desiderius remained in town to await Lorand. He promised to bring them out, however late they came, even in the night.
The ladies waited up until midnight. They waited outside under the verandah. It was a beautiful warm moonlit night.
The good grandmother, embracing f.a.n.n.y's shoulder, related to her how many, many years ago they had waited one night for the two brothers to come, but that was a very awful night, and the waiting was very sorrowful. The wind howled among the acacias, clouds chased each other across the sky, hounds howled in the village, a hay-wain rattled in at the gate--and in it was hidden the coffin.--And the populace was very suspicious: they thought the ice would break its bounds, if a dead man were taken over it.
But now it was quite a different world. The air was still, not a breath of air: man and beast sleeps, only those are awake who await a bride.
How different the weather!
Then, all at once, a wain had stood at the gate: the servants hastened to open it.
A hay-wain now rattled in at the gate, as it did then.
And after the wain, on foot, the two brothers, hand in hand.
The women rushed to meet them, Lorand was the first whom everyone embraced and kissed.
"And your wife?" asked every lip.
Lorand pointed speechlessly to the wain, and could not tell them.
Desiderius answered in his place.
"We have brought his wife here in her coffin."
CHAPTER x.x.xII
WHEN WE HAD GROWN OLD
Seventeen years have pa.s.sed since Lorand returned home again.
What old people we have become since then!
Besides, seventeen years is a long time:--and seventeen heavy years!
I have rarely seen people grow old so slowly as did our contemporaries.
We live in a time when we sigh with relief as each day pa.s.ses by--only because it is now over! And we will not believe that what comes after it will bring still worse days.
We descend continuously further and further down, in faith, in hope, in charity towards one another: our wealth is dissipated, our spirits languish, our strength decays, our united life falls into disunion: it is not indifference, but "ennui" with which we look at the events of the days.
One year to the day, after poor Czipra's death Lorand went with his musket on his shoulder to a certain entertainment where death may be had for the asking.
I shall not recall the fame of those who are gone--why should I? Very few know of it.
Lorand was a good soldier.
That he would have been in any case, he had naturally every attribute required for it: heroic courage, athletic strength, hot blood, a soul that never shrank. War would in any case have been a delight for him:--and in his present state of mind!
Broken-hearted and crushed, his first love contemptuously trampling him in the dust, his second murdered in the fervor of her pa.s.sion, his soul weighed with the load of melancholia, and that grievous fate which bore down and overshadowed his family: always haunted by that terrible foreboding that, sooner or later, he must still find his way to that eighth resting-place, that empty niche.
When the wars began his l.u.s.treless spirit burst into brilliance. When he put on his uniform, he came to me, and, grasping my hand, said with flas.h.i.+ng eyes:
"I am bargaining in the market where a man may barter his worn-out life at a profit of a hundred per cent."
Yet he did not barter his.