Midst the Wild Carpathians Part 43

In itself, a kiss is a very harmless thing. But what if another knows of it or has perceived it? Then indeed it becomes the pole of our suspicion, round which the mind weaves a whole pandemonium of doubts and guesses. We begin to think what might have led up to it, and what it may lead to. And in this case another did know of it. The husband had reasoned with himself: a kiss of which n.o.body knows anything makes no rent in a wife's virtue--and behold! it is in every one's mouth already.

And perhaps they don't stop there. Perhaps while he, fond fool! imagined his honour in safe keeping, the world with a loud Ha, ha! has long been dragging it through the mire, and his ear is the very last to catch the insulting laugh. And that his mortal foe, too, should be at the bottom of it!

Night had fallen. The horses were tired out. Beldi had nowhere given them rest, nowhere changed them for fresh ones. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He wanted to meet face to face the woman who had so disgraced him, heaven only knew how much! But why be content to see a woman weep or die, when there was a man on whom vengeance could be taken? A man who had ever been his foe, from the time when they had been pages together at Prince Gabriel Bethlen's court, and had now fastened on the most sensitive spot in his heart and ruthlessly torn it.

"Turn back," he cried to the coachman, "and go in the direction of Klausenburg."

The old servant shook his head; turned into a side-path, and so completely lost himself in the darkness of the night, that he was forced to confess to his master that he really did not know where he was.

Beldi's rage and impatience knew no bounds. Looking about him, he perceived a small light burning at no great distance, and sulkily bade his coachman drive in that direction.

It was into the courtyard of a lonely country-house that they rolled at last, and Beldi recognized in the master of the house, who appeared at the barking of the large watch-dogs, old Adam Gyergyai, one of his dearest friends, who, when he saw Beldi, rushed into his arms, and was beside himself with joy.

"G.o.d be with you!" said the good old man, covering his guest with kisses. "I will not ask what piece of good fortune has brought you to me."

"To tell the truth, I've lost my way. I was on the road to Klausenburg.

I must get there to-night; but I'll rest my horses here for an hour or two if you'll let me."

"What pressing business is this you have on hand?"

"I must deliver a message," replied Beldi evasively.

"If that be all, why so much hurry? Write it down, and one of my mounted servants shall immediately take it to its destination while you remain here."

"You are right," said Beldi, after some reflection; "it will be better to send a letter," and with that he asked for writing materials, sat down, and wrote to Banfi.

The mere act of writing generally clears and calms the mind, so that it was in a fairly moderate tone that Beldi challenged Banfi to meet him at Szamos-Ujvar on an affair of honour. Beldi then sealed the letter and gave it to Gyergyai, requesting him to forward it at once.

"So you are writing to Banfi, my brother?" said the old man, looking at the address of the letter. "Why, you only parted from him a little time ago! What is all this between you?"

"Do you recollect the time, my father," said Beldi, "when you saw Banfi and me fight together in the lists at the tournament held by Prince George Rakoczy?"

"Quite well! On that occasion you had both vanquished every other compet.i.tor, but could do nothing against each other."

"You then said that you would very much like to see which of the two would beat the other if we set to it in earnest."

"Yes; I well remember it."

"Well, now you _shall_ see!"

Gyergyai looked Beldi in the face.

"My brother, I know not what this letter contains, but I can guess your thoughts from your face. My father used to say that a letter written in wrath should never be sent off the same day, but should be put under one's pillow and slept upon. The advice is not bad; follow it, and send off the letter to-morrow morning, for, to be candid with you, I won't send it to-night."

Beldi followed the old man's advice. He put the letter under his pillow, lay down, went to sleep, and dreamt that he was in the bosom of his family, saw his wife and children, and was very happy. It was only the rolling of his carriage into the courtyard next morning which woke him out of his slumbers. The first thing that occurred to him was his letter to Banfi. He broke the seal, read the letter through again, and was much ashamed that he had ever written such a letter.

"Where was your common-sense, Beldi?" he asked himself, tore the letter to pieces, and threw it into the fire. "How the world would have laughed at me!" thought he. "An old fool, to take it into his head all at once to be jealous of the mother of his children!--and for the sake of a kiss too given in drunkenness and rejected with indignation. What a weapon I should have put into Banfi's hands, had I led him to suppose that I was jealous of my wife on his account."

"Let us go to Bodola," said he very gently to his coachman, and with that he took leave of his host.

"But how about that pressing letter of yours?" asked Gyergyai anxiously.

"I have already sent it--up the chimney," replied Beldi, smiling, and set out on his journey with feelings very different from those with which he had started.

So you see a man can be drunk without wine!

While still some distance from Bodola, he could see all the members of his family looking out for him on the castle terrace, and no sooner did they perceive his carriage, than they hastened down to greet him. He met them all in the park, wife and children; they threw themselves on his neck with cries of joy, and he kissed them all, one after another, over and over again; but his warmest embraces were for his darling wife, who smiled up at him with a radiant face, which he could not feast his eyes upon enough. It seemed to him as if her eyes were brighter, her features more enchanting, her lips sweeter than ever they had been.

"What a fool a man is, to be sure," thought Beldi, "who, when his wife is out of sight, is capable of supposing everything bad of her, and when she stands before his eyes cannot make too much of her."

In the abandonment of his joy he did not at first perceive that there was a strange face in the family circle--a handsome, stately young Turk, with frank and n.o.ble features, not unlike an Hungarian.

"You do not even notice me, or perhaps you forget me," said the youth, stepping in front of Beldi.

Beldi looked at him. The youth's features were familiar to him, and yet he could not recall his name till his youngest daughter, Aranka, who was dangling on her father's arm, remarked archly--

"What! Not recognize Feriz Beg, papa! Why, I knew him at the first glance."

Beldi at once held out his hand and heartily greeted the youth, whose manly features however wore a grave and serious look.

"My father sends me to you on an urgent errand," said he, "and had you not come, I must have gone to seek you, for my message admits of no delay."

Beldi was struck by the youth's earnest tone, and on reaching the castle immediately took him aside into a private room, and there the young Beg handed him a parchment roll tied round with silken cord, and sealed with a yellow seal. Beldi broke the seal and read as follows--

"The blessing and protection of heaven rest upon you and your family!--Transylvania is in great danger. The Sultan is enraged at the war which Denis Banfi wages with the Pasha of Grosswardein. They say that this great n.o.ble is in league with the Emperor. See to it that the land chastises Banfi, the power to do so is still your own. But if the Prince cannot, or will not punish him, the Sultan has sworn to drive the pair of them out of the realm, and convert Transylvania into a Turkish Pachalic. The Pashas of Grosswardein and Temesvar, the Lord-Marchers, and the Tartar Khan have been ordered to hold themselves in readiness to invade Transylvania from all sides at a moment's notice. Put a bit therefore in the mouth of this great lord, for death hangs over your heads on the film of a spider's web.

"Your friend and brother,

"KUCSUK PASHA."

Beldi's face grew dark as he read this letter. So it was all in vain that he had driven Banfi's name out of his head. This letter conjured up that odious form once more before his eyes.

He folded up the parchment and gave the grave youth a brief answer to take back with him--

"Let your father know that we will take the necessary steps to avert the threatened evil, and thank him heartily for his warning."

Feriz Beg immediately quitted Bodola Castle. Beldi remained alone in his room, pacing to and fro in a brown study, and racking his brains to find a way out of the danger. He could find none. It was not to be expected that Banfi's pride would yield to the Pasha, especially after a brilliant victory and in a just cause; and yet the welfare of the land required the sacrifice of the just cause.

Brooding thus, he did not notice that somebody was tapping at his door, who after thrice knocking and receiving no answer, opened it, and as Beldi suddenly came to himself and looked around him with a start, he perceived Michael Teleki standing before him. So amazed was Beldi by this apparition, that for the moment the power of speech forsook him.

"You appear surprised," said Teleki, observing his amazement. "You are astonished that I should travel such a long way to see you, after parting from you only twenty-four hours ago. But great events have taken place in the meantime. Transylvania is threatened by a danger which must be averted as quickly as possible."

"I know it," replied Beldi, and putting his hand over the signature, he let Teleki read Kucsuk's letter.

"Great heaven!" exclaimed the minister. "You know more than I did. But what I want to say on this matter is a secret which the very walls around us may not hear."

"I understand," replied Beldi, and immediately commanded his heydukes to admit no one into the vestibules; placed guards in front of the windows, and drew the curtains down to the ground. There now only remained a little tapestried door, at the back of the room, which led through a narrow corridor to his wife's bed-chamber, an arrangement very common, at that time, in the mansions of Hungarian magnates. By way of additional precaution Beldi closed this door also.

"Does your Excellency feel secure enough now?" asked Beldi.