Manasseh Part 23

"Very well. The truth of the matter is, the beautiful Princess Blanka is at this moment lying dead in the mountains of Transylvania."

The prince recoiled. "Young man, I forbid you to indulge in such ill-chosen jests."

Benjamin rose and made a low bow. "Such a lack of respect as a jest of that sort to my master and benefactor is an utter impossibility."

"Well, then, sit down, and let us have no play-acting. Where do you say this thing occurred?"

"Somewhere on the highway between Nagy-Enyed and Felvincz. She is lying there in the snow, transfixed with an insurgent's lance." The speaker therewith proceeded to relate several episodes in the b.l.o.o.d.y drama then enacting in Transylvania.

"But why are you so sure that the princess is one of the victims?" asked the listener.

"The names are all recorded," was the answer. "The first thing, therefore, for Prince Cagliari to do is to order the recovery of his wife's body, that it may receive proper interment in his family vault.

If you wish to convince yourself of the truth of my statements, I will give you the key to the cipher despatches. The despatches themselves you will find in a place that is always open to you. Go and read for yourself."

"No, no," cried the prince, "I will not look at the papers. What you have said is enough for me."

"Very well," rejoined the secretary, quietly. "Then I will go and make ready to start at once for Transylvania. I am determined to find and bring back to you the remains of the Princess Blanka. It is a grim task, and calls for a heart of iron."

"And a purse of gold," added the other. "Here is my pocketbook to begin with, and I will open an account for you with a Czernovicz banker."

What was most important of all, the smooth-tongued secretary had entirely omitted,--namely, that the subject of his ingenious story was at that moment alive and well, and waiting to see the sun rise over the Toroczko hills.

After the prince had somewhat recovered from the effect produced upon him by Benjamin Vajdar's announcement, he gave himself up to the rapturous thought that now at last he could carry word to Rozina of his wife's death. He sought her presence without delay.

The marchioness, cosily ensconced on her sofa, was either asleep, or feigned to be, when Cagliari entered and whispered in her ear:

"Rozina, my wife is dead!"

Her eyes opened and a quick flush of pleasure overspread her face. "How?

When? Where?" she asked eagerly.

"At Nagy-Enyed--killed by the insurgents."

"Nonsense!" cried the marchioness. "Who told you so?"

"My private secretary, your favourite, Benjamin Vajdar. He has just read it in the despatches received at the war office."

The listener's eyes flashed with scorn.

"I am telling you the truth," a.s.serted the other, vehemently. "I give you my word of honour, it is as I say. I have this moment given Vajdar my purse and despatched him to Transylvania to bring the poor woman's body back to Vienna." The prince seated himself in an armchair opposite the marchioness, and continued: "I am even more eager than you to see her laid to rest in my family vault. My motives are deeper and stronger than yours. You have been longing for Blanka Zboroy's death because her existence meant humiliation to you. This thought has brought unrest to your pillow, but a legion of demons chases sleep from mine. Shall a Cagliari suffer any living woman to drag his name in the mire before all the world--to laugh to scorn the decree of the Roman Curia--to scratch out his name after her own and replace it with that of a Szekler peasant? That may be allowed to pa.s.s among common people, but the descendants of the Ferraras will find a way, or make one, to prevent such a scandal. It has become a necessity in my eyes that _she_ should not walk the same planet with me."

The marchioness was listening by this time with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and parted lips.

"Of late I have suffered heavy losses," the speaker continued. "Formerly my income amounted to a million and a half; now it is barely half a million. My estates in the Romagna have been confiscated, my serfs in Hungary freed, and I have lost frightful sums by my investments. I know many a poor devil has been forced to wont himself to rags and poverty, but for one who has been a leader among men to debase himself and drag out a miserable existence in obscurity--never! Shall I, forsooth, suspend the erection of the votive church which I began at the seat of my ancestors twelve years ago? Or shall I, discarding the masterpieces of a Thorwaldsen, embellish the sacred edifice with the rude productions of a stone-cutter? Would you have me say to the woman I adore, 'My dear, hitherto we have lived in two palaces; henceforth we must be content with one'? But most impossible of all would it be to confess my pecuniary embarra.s.sments to my banker and my major-domo, and to direct them to cut down my future expenditures by a third, to sell my picture-gallery, my museum, and two-thirds of my collection of diamonds.

No, no! What I am now telling you has never pa.s.sed my lips before, nor ever will again; for I know how to apply the remedy, and I will not submit to humiliation, even though it should cost human blood to prevent it."

The speaker bent forward and went on in a more guarded tone:

"Now as to the woman of whom we were speaking. When her brothers gave her to me in marriage, we entered into a contract which stipulated that the property of the one who died first should go to the survivor. She was young, I was old; the advantage was all on her side. Our divorce has not annulled this contract. If Blanka Zboroy dies, her brothers must deliver her property over to me."

"But her fortune is only a million."

"Don't you believe it. To be sure, her brothers paid her the interest on only a million, but her property really amounts to five times that sum.

My part thus far has been simply to await the turn of events. In Rome, as it appears, this woman's fate hung by a thread; but all at once she took the insane notion of marrying again. However, that does not invalidate the contract between us, as the Roman Curia, though it granted her a divorce, did so on terms that will make it impossible to recognise her marriage with a Protestant. When death overtakes her, it will be as the Princess Cagliari that she leaves this world. One thing we must remember, however: the Protestant Church will require her to renounce her former faith in order to render her separation from her first husband valid. Yet, if she does this she will forfeit all claim to her property, which, by the testator's will, can descend only to Roman Catholic heirs."

With both hands Rozina drew the prince's head down and whispered in his ear:

"She must die before this second marriage takes place."

"I shall not meddle with destiny," returned the prince, straightening up again. "I shall be satisfied and ask no questions if Vajdar brings back a leaden casket containing the unhappy woman's remains. I shall render her the last honours with princely pomp, and shall then give orders to pursue and punish the insurgents who were responsible for her death."

Rozina burst out laughing. It is always too irresistibly funny to see the devil trying to wash himself clean. Even Cagliari himself was forced to smile.

"Yes," said he, "that is a joke we may laugh at, if you like. But now hear what I have to say further. If Blanka Zboroy renounces the faith of her fathers and marries again, it will not suffice for her only to die.

The man she marries must die also, the parson who joined their hands at the altar, the witnesses of the ceremony, the whole family that received her in its midst, the schoolchildren that sang the bridal hymn, the guests who sat around the wedding-table, the people who looked out of their windows and saw the bridal procession pa.s.s,--yes, the whole town where this marriage took place must be destroyed, and I have it in my power to accomplish this. Now are you satisfied?"

CHAPTER XX.

MIRTH AND MOURNING.

Meanwhile preparations were going forward in Toroczko for the approaching nuptials. All preliminaries had been duly attended to, Blanka had joined the Unitarian Church, and nothing now stood in the way of her marriage to Mana.s.seh.

In the courtyard to the rear of the Adorjan family mansion stood a little house, containing two rooms and a kitchen, which Aaron secretly fitted up in genuine Toroczko style, with carved hard-wood furniture, a row of pegs running around the wall and hung with a fine array of glazed earthenware mugs, and an old-fas.h.i.+oned dresser filled with pottery and a dazzling display of bright new tinware. In the sleeping-room bedclothes, canopy, and curtain were embroidered by peasant maidens. This little house was not to be shown to Blanka until her wedding day.

During these preparations Aaron climbed the Szekler Stone every evening and surveyed the horizon in search of any beacons blazing on the surrounding hills. "If only no mishap befalls, to spoil everything!" he would murmur to himself as he came down again.

On the Sunday when the banns are published for the last time it is customary for all the friends of the young couple--and there is sure to be a whole army of them--to a.s.semble at the bridegroom's house, which in the present instance was also the bride's. The banquet on this occasion is not furnished by the bridal pair: it is a farewell supper given by the guests of the bride and groom, each of the company contributing a roasted fowl and a cake. The groom merely supplies the wine, but not gratis, as all pay for what they drink, and the sum thus collected goes into the village school fund.

On Monday morning the wedding festivities begin in earnest. At an early hour people are awakened by the firing of cannon, after which young men mount their horses and gallop hither and thither, and two others, accompanied by trumpeters, go forth to invite the village folk to the wedding and to bear the bridal gifts through the street. Then the nuptial procession moves, amid the glad ringing of bells, from the house of the bride to the church. The old men head the line, the young men come next, and the women follow, while the bridegroom with his escort, and the bride with her bridesmaids, are given a place in the middle of the procession. On coming out of the church, the newly married pair receive a shower of flowers from the hands of the maidens gathered at the door. But the ceremonies at the church by no means end the wedding festival. What follows is peculiarly characteristic and important. First the young men bearing the bridal cake run a race from the church to the bridegroom's house, the victor winning a silk neckerchief embroidered by the bride. Then comes the rhymed dialogue, in which the representatives of the bride and of the groom chaffer with each other over the bride, but always with the result that the bridegroom's deputy gets the better of his opponent--yet only after the bridegroom himself has promised to be father and brother to his young wife, and to cherish her as the apple of his eye. Thereupon the maidens form a ring around the bride, sing songs to her to conquer her bashfulness, and so induce her to yield her hand to the bridegroom. After this the bridesmaids escort her to her new home--which in this case was represented by the little house that Aaron had secretly furnished for her. Neither Blanka nor Mana.s.seh had even suspected what he was about.

Blanka found herself in the paradise of her dreams, and when her attendants had placed a gold-embroidered cap on her head, and she came forth again into the courtyard,--which was now crowded with eager friends,--her hand in that of the man whose wife and queen she was thenceforth to be, it seemed to her that the happiness of heaven itself was her portion.

Five hundred guests partook of the wedding feast. Food and drink were provided in plenty, and every heart was filled to overflowing with the joy of the occasion. And yet, to Blanka herself, something was still lacking. "If Jonathan and Zen.o.bia were only here!" she could not but say to herself, and her happiness was not quite complete without them.

Toward evening Aaron himself began to feel uneasy at their non-appearance. He had nearly exhausted his ingenuity in quieting Blanka's anxiety. Finally he played his last card.

"Now, my angel," said he, "you remember I promised you I would dance the Szekler dance at your wedding. Have the goodness to pay attention, and you will see something that is not to be seen every day."

The Szekler dance resembles no other terpsich.o.r.ean exercise, nor is it by any means easy of execution. It calls for sinews of steel and great suppleness of limb. To make it still more difficult, the performer is obliged to provide his own music by singing a merry popular ballad while he dances. He throws himself first on one leg, then on the other, bending his knee and sinking nearly to the floor, while he extends the other leg straight before him, raises one hand above his head, and rests the other on his hip. His heels must never touch the floor, nor may he, while bobbing thus comically up and down and trolling his lively ditty, suffer his face to relax from that expression of sober and dignified earnestness which marks the true Szekler. It is a dance and a display of great physical strength and endurance at the same time.

While Aaron's performance was still in progress, his brother Alexander broke through the circle of spectators and whispered something in his ear, whereupon the dancer immediately ceased his exhibition with the cry, "They have come!"

With an exclamation of joy Blanka sprang up from her seat. She wished to be the first to welcome the long-awaited pair.