Woman looking at girl with others in the background"'WHO IS THIS CHILD?' DEMANDED THE BARONESS"
FOOTNOTES:[10]Room.[11]Salable daughters.
[10]Room.
[10]Room.
[11]Salable daughters.
[11]Salable daughters.
THE UNEXPECTED
Aszszony Semeyer'sbrother-in-law had a large vineyard and, when it came time for the vintage, the good woman drove the children over to her brother's farm. The grapes grew in long lines up and down the hillside where the sun was strongest. White carts, drawn by white oxen, were driven by white-frocked peasants. All were decked with grape leaves, all had eaten golden grapes until they could eat no more, for the great bunches of rich, yellow grapes are free to all at vintage time. From these golden grapes is made the amber-hued "Riesling," and the children enjoyed very much helping to tread the grapes, for the wine is made in the old-fashionedway, the grapes being cast into huge vats and trod upon with the feet till the juice is entirely pressed out. The peasants dance gaily up and down upon the grapes, tossing their arms above their heads and making great pleasure of their work.
After the long, happy, sunny day the white cart of Aszszony Semeyer joined the line of carts which wound along from the vineyard, filled with gay toilers. At her brother's farm they stayed all night, for the vintage dance upon the grass under the golden glow of the harvest moon was too fair a sight to miss.
They stayed, too, for the nut-gathering. Hungarian hazel nuts are celebrated the world over, and the nutting was as much a fête as had been the vintage. This was the last frolic of the year, and the children went back to Harom Szölöhoz to work hard all winter. Banda Bela still helped theswine-herd, but Marushka was no longer a goose girl. Aszszony Semeyer had grown very fond of the little girl and spent long hours teaching her to sew and embroider. Many salt tears little Marushka shed over herHimmelbelt, or marriage bed-cover. Every girl in Hungary is supposed to have a fine linen bedspread embroidered ready to take to her home when she is married. It takes many months to make one of them, and Marushka's was to be a very elaborate one.
The linen was coarse, but spun from their own flax by Aszszony Semeyer herself. In design Marushka'sHimmelbeltwas wonderful. The edge was to be heavily embroidered in colours, and in one corner was Marushka's name, a space being left for the day of the wedding. In the centre was a wedding hymn which was embroidered in gay letters, and began:
"Blessed by the Saints and God above I'll beIf I do wed the man who loveth me;Then may my home be full of peace and rest,And I with goodly sons and daughters blest!"
Marushka worked over it for hours and grew to fairly hate the thought of marrying.
"I shall never, never marry," she sobbed. "I shall never finish this horrid oldHimmelbeltand I suppose I can't be married without it."
Banda Bela sympathized with her and often played for her while she worked. Through the long winter the children learned to read and write, for all children are compelled to go to school in Hungary, and the Gypsies are the only ones who escape the school room.
Marushka learned very fast. Her mind worked far more quickly than did Banda Bela's, though he was so much older. There was nothing which Marushka did not want to know all about; earth, air,sky, water, sun, wind, people,—all were interesting to her.
"The wind, Banda Bela, whence comes it?" she would ask.
"It is the breath of God," the boy would answer.
"And the sun?"
"It is God's kindness."
"But the storms, with the flashing lightning and the terrible thunder?"
"It is the wrath of Isten, the flash of his eye, the sound of his voice."
"But I like to know whatmakesthe things," said Marushka. "It is not enough to say that everything is God. I know He is back of everything. Aszszony Semeyer told me that, but I want to know thehowof what He does."
"I think we cannot always do just what we like," said Banda Bela calmly. "I have found that out many times, so it isbest not to fret about things but to live each day by itself." At this philosophy Marushka pouted.
One afternoon in the summer the children asked for permission to go to the woods, and Aszszony Semeyer answered them:
"Yes, my pigeons, go; the sky is fair and you have both been good children of late,—go, but return early."
They had a happy afternoon playing together upon the hills which were so blue with forget-me-nots that one could hardly see where the hilltops met the sky. Marushka made a wreath of them and Banda Bela crowned her, twining long festoons of the flowers around her neck and waist, until she looked like a little flower fairy. They wandered homeward as the sun was setting, past the great house on the hill, and Maruskha said:
"I wonder if the High-Born Baron and his gracious lady will soon be coming home? In the village they say that they always come at this time of the year. Do you remember how beautiful the High-Born Baroness looked at Irma's wedding?"
"She was beautiful and kind, and sang like a nightingale," said Banda Bela. "Come, Marushka, we must hurry, or Aszszony Semeyer will scold us for being late!"
As they neared the village they heard a noise and a strange scene met their gaze! A yoke of white oxen blocked the way; several black and brown cattle had slipped their halters and were running aimlessly about tossing their horns; seventeen hairy pigs ran hither and thither, squealing loudly, and all the geese in town seemed to be turned loose, flapping their wings and squawking at the top of their voices. Childrenwere dashing around, shouting and screaming, in their efforts to catch the different animals, while the grown people, scarcely less disturbed, tried in vain to silence the din.
"They are frightened by the machine of the High-Born Baron, Marushka," said Banda Bela. "See, there it is at the end of the street. I have seen these queer cars in Buda-Pest, but none has ever been in this little village before, so it is no wonder that everyone is afraid. There, the men have the cattle quiet, but the geese and the pigs are as bad as ever."
"Let us run and lead them out, Banda Bela," cried Marushka. "You can make the pigs follow you and I can quiet the geese. It is too bad to have the homecoming of their High-Born Graciousnesses spoiled by these stupids!" Marushka dashed into the throng of geese calling tothem in soft little tones. They recognized her at once and stopped their fluttering as she called them by the names she had given them when she was goose girl and they all flocked about her. Then she sang a queer little crooning song, and they followed her down the street as she walked toward the goose green, not knowing how else to get them out of the way.
Banda Bela meantime was having an amusing time with his friends the pigs. They were all squealing so loudly that they could scarcely hear his voice, so he bethought himself of his music and began to play. It was but a few moments before the piggies heard and stopped to listen. Banda Bela had played much when he was watching the pigs on the moor, and his violin told them of the fair green meadow where they found such good things to eat, and of the river's brink with its great poolsof black slime in which to wallow. They stopped their mad dashing about and gathered around the boy, and he, too, turned and led them from the village.
It was a funny sight, this village procession. First came Marushka in her little peasant's costume, decked with her wreath and garlands of forget-me-nots, and followed by her snow-white geese. Next, Banda Bela, playing his violin and escorting his pigs, while last of all came the motor car of the High-Born Baron, the Baron looking amused, the Baroness in spasms of laughter.
"Oh, Léon," she cried. "Could our friends who drive on the Os Budavara[12]see us now! Such a procession! That child who leads is the most beautiful little creature and so unconscious, and the boy's playing is wonderful."
Marushka at start of procession followed by geese"FIRST CAME MARUSHKA"
"They must be the Gypsy children Aszszony Semeyer adopted. We saw them when we were here last year," replied her husband. "What a story this would make for the club! We must give these children a florin for their timely aid."
But the children, unconscious of this pleasant prospect, led their respective friends back into the village by another way, so that it was not until the next day that the "High-Born" ones had a chance to see them, and this time in an even more exciting adventure than that of the village procession. It was the motor car again which caused the trouble.
Marushka and Banda Bela had been sent on an errand to a farm not far from the village and were walking homeward in the twilight. Down the road came a peasant's cart just as from the opposite direction came the "honk-honk" of the Baron'smotor. Such a sight had never appeared to the horses before in all their lives. They reared up on their hind legs, pawing the air wildly as the driver tried to turn them aside to let the motor pass. A woman and a baby sat in the cart, and, as the horses became unmanageable and overturned the cart into the ditch, the woman was thrown out and the baby rolled from her arms right in front of the motor. The mechanician had tried to stop his car, but there was something wrong with the brake and he could not stop all at once. Marushka saw the baby. If there was one thing she loved more than another it was a baby. She saw its danger and in a second she dashed across the road, snatched up the little one and ran up the other side of the road just as the motor passed over the spot where the baby had fallen.
"Marushka," cried Banda Bela ashe ran around the motor. "Are you hurt?"
"Brave child!" cried the Baron, who sprang from his car and hurried to the group of frightened peasants. "Are you injured?"
"Not at all, Most Noble Baron," said Marushka, not forgetting to make her courtesy, though it was not easy with the baby in her arms.
The child's mother had by this time picked herself out of the ditch and rushed over to where Maruskha stood, the baby still in her arms and cooing delightedly as he looked into the child's sweet face, his tiny hand clutching the silver medal which always hung about Marushka's neck. The mother snatched the baby to her breast and, seating herself by the roadside, she felt all over its little body to see if it was hurt.
"You have this brave little girl to thankthat your baby was not killed," said the Baron. The woman turned to Marushka.
"I thank you for—" she began, stopped abruptly, and then stared at the little girl with an expression of amazement. "Child, who are you?" she demanded.
"Marushka," said the little girl simply. The woman put her hand to her head.
"It is her image," she muttered. "Her very self!"
The Baroness had alighted from the motor and came up in time to hear the woman's words.
"Whose image?" she demanded sharply.
The woman changed colour and put her baby down on the grass.
"The little girl looks like a child I saw in America," she stammered, her face flushing.
"Was she an American child?" demanded the Baroness.
"Oh, yes, Your Graciousness," said the woman hastily. "Of course, she was an American child."
"Now I know that you are speaking falsely," said the Baroness. "This little one looks like no American child who was ever born. Léon," turning to her husband, "is this one of your peasants?" Then she added in a tone too low to be heard by anyone but her husband, "I know that she can tell something about this little girl. Question her."
The Baron turned to the woman and said:
"This little girl saved your baby's life. Should you not do her some kindness?"
"What could I do for her, Your High-Born Graciousness?" the woman asked.
"That I leave to your good heart." The Baron had not dwelt upon his estates and managed his peasants for years withoutknowing peasant character. Threats would not move this woman, that he saw in a moment.
"She is a Gypsy child," the woman said sullenly.
Banda Bela spoke suddenly, for he had come close and heard what was said.
"That she is not! She is Magyar. Deserted by the roadside, she was cared for by Gypsy folk. Does she look like a Gypsy? Would a Gypsy child wear a Christian medal upon her breast?" The boy's tone was sharp. Marushka heard nothing. She was playing with the baby.
The woman looked from Marushka to the baby, then at the Baron, hesitating. "Let me see your pretty medal, child," she said at length, and Marushka untied the string and put the medal in the woman's hand.
"I used to think it was my mother, butnow I know it is Our Lady," said Marushka gently. The woman looked at it for a moment, then gave it back to the little girl and stood for a moment thinking.
"High-Born Baron," she said at last, "I will speak. Those it might harm are dead. The little girl who saved my baby I will gladly serve, but I will speak alone to the ears of the Baron and his gracious lady."
"Very well," said the Baron as he led the woman aside.
"Škultéty Yda is my name, Your Graciousness," she said. "I was foster-sister to a high-born lady in the Province in which lies Buda-Pest. I loved my mistress and after her marriage I went with her to the home of her husband, a country place on the Danube. There I met Hödza Ludevit, who wished to marry me and take me to America, for which hehad long saved the money. He hated all nobles and most of all the High-Born Count, because the Count had once struck him with his riding whip. Then the Countess' little daughter came and I loved her so dearly that I said that I would never part from her. Ludevit waited for me two years, then he grew angry and said, 'To America I will go with or without you.' Then he stole the little baby and sent me word that he would return her only on condition that I go at once to America with him. To save the little golden-haired baby I followed him beyond the sea to America. He swore to me that he had returned little Marushka to her parents.
"The Count traced us to America thinking we might have taken the child with us, and then I learned that the baby had never been sent home. My wicked husband had left it by the roadside and what had becomeof it no one knew. It turned my heart toward my husband into stone. Now he is dead and I have brought my own baby home, but my family are all dead and I have no place to go. These people were kind to me on the ship, so I came to them, hoping to find work to care for my baby, since all my money was spent in the coming home. This little girl who saved my baby I know to be the daughter of my dear mistress." She stopped.
"How do you know it?" demanded the Baroness.
"Your High-Born Graciousness, she is her image. There is the same corn-coloured hair, the same blue eyes, the same flushed cheek, the same proud mouth, the same sweet voice."
"What was the name of your lady?" interrupted the baroness, who had been looking fixedly at Marushka, knitting herbrows. "The child has always reminded me of someone; who it is I cannot think."
"The foster sister whom I loved was the Countess Maria Andrássy."
"I see it," cried the Baroness. "The child is her image, Léon. I have her picture at the castle. You will see at once the resemblance. I have not seen Maria since we left school. Her husband we see often at Court. I had heard that Maria had lost her child and that since she had never left her country home. I supposed the child was dead. This little Marushka must be Maria Andrássy."
"We must have proofs," said the Baron.
"Behold the medal upon the child's neck," said Yda. "It is one her mother placed there. I myself scratched with a needle the child's initials 'M. A.' the same as her mother's. The letters are still there; and if that is not enough there is onthe child's neck the same red mark as when she was born. It is up under her hair and her mother would know it at once."
"The only way is for her mother to see her and she will know. This Gypsy boy may be able to supply some missing links. We shall ask him," said the Baron. When Banda Bela was called he told simply all that he knew about Marushka and all that old Jarnik had told him.
"There is no harm coming to her, is there?" he asked anxiously, and the Baroness said kindly:
"No, my boy, no harm at all, and perhaps much good, for we think that we have found her people." Banda Bela's face clouded. "That would make you sad?" she asked.
"Yes and no, Your Graciousness," he answered. "It would take my heart away to lose Marushka for whom I have caredthese years as my sister, but I know so well the sadness of having no mother. If she can find her mother, I shall rejoice."
"Something good shall be found for you, too, my lad." The Baroness smiled at him, but he replied simply:
"I thank Your High-Born Graciousness. I shall still have my music."
The Baroness flashed a quick glance at him. "I understand you, boy; nothing can take that away from one who loves it. Now take the little one home, and to-morrow we shall come to see Aszszony Semeyer about her. In the meantime, say not one word to the little girl for fear she be disappointed if we have made a mistake."
"Yes, Your High-Born Graciousness," and Banda Bela led Marushka away, playing as they went down the hill the little song of his father.
"The hills are so blue,The sun so warm,The wind of the moor so soft and so kind!Oh, the eyes of my mother,The warmth of her breast,The breath of her kiss on my cheek, alas!"
FOOTNOTE:[12]Celebrated drive in Buda-Pest.
[12]Celebrated drive in Buda-Pest.
[12]Celebrated drive in Buda-Pest.
MARUSHKA MAKES A JOURNEY
Marushkawas so excited that she scarce knew how to contain herself. The Baroness had come to see Aszszony Semeyer and had talked long with her. Then she had called Marushka and the little girl saw that Aszszony Semeyer had been crying.
"Marushka," the Baroness said. "Will you come with me and make a journey? I want to take you in the motor to Buda-Pest."
"The High-Born Baroness is very good," said Marushka, her eyes shining. "I should like to go very much, but not if Aszszony Semeyer does not wish it."
"Good child," said Aszszony Semeyer, "I do wish it."
"Then why do you cry?"
"There are many things to make old people cry," said the peasant woman. "I am certainly not crying because the High-Born Graciousness wishes to honour you with so pleasant a journey—(that is the truth, for it is the fear that she will not come back that forces the tears from my eyes," she added to herself).
"Aszszony Semeyer will have Banda Bela," said the Baroness. Marushka opened her eyes very wide.
"Oh, no, Your Graciousness, because Banda Bela must go wherever I go. If he stays at home, then I must stay, too."
"Such a child!" exclaimed Aszszony Semeyer. "She has always been like this about Banda Bela. The two will not be separated."
"In that case we shall have to take Banda Bela also," said the Baroness, and Marushka clapped her hands with glee.
"That will be nice," she exclaimed. "I shall love to see the city and all the beautiful palaces, and I shall bring you a present, Aszszony Semeyer, but I will not go unless you wish me to."
"I do wish it, dear child, but do not forget your old aunt," for so she had taught the children to call her.
So it was decided that they should start the next week when the Baron's business would have been attended to.
Part of Marushka's journey was to be taken in the motor, and, as she had never ridden in one before, she was very much excited as they set out on a bright day in August. She wanted to sit beside Banda Bela with the driver, but the Baroness said, "No, it would not be proper for alittle girl." So she had to be satisfied with sitting between the Baron and Baroness on the back seat.
Up hill and down dale they rode. The road at times was so poor that the wheels wedged in the ruts and all had to get out while the driver pushed from behind.
They ate their luncheon at a ruined castle which had once been a beautiful country place. It belonged to a friend of the Baron but had been deserted for many years. Beyond it lay a corn-coloured plain and blue hills, and on top of one of the hills gleamed the white walls of a monastery.
"Near here are some famous marble quarries," said the Baroness. "They are finer even than the ones at Carrara in Italy, which are celebrated all over the world. There is so much marble around here that it is cheaper than wood. See there! even the walls of that pig-pen are of marble.Yonder is a peasant's hut with a marble railing around the garden. Even the roads are mended with it, and the quarries in the hillsides have hardly been touched yet. Some day someone will be made very rich if they will open up this industry, and it will keep many of our people from going to America."
"Why do they go to America?" asked Marushka. "And where is America? It cannot be so nice as Magyarland."
"Well, little one, it is as nice to Americans, but when our Hungarian people go there they always come back. Sometimes the Slövaks remain, but never the Magyars. They go there and work and save. Then they send for their families, and they too work and save, and at last they all come home. There is a story told of the last war in Hungary. Two Magyar peasants had gone to America and worked in the far west.One day in a lonely cabin on the plains they found an old newspaper and read that there was war in Hungary. They put together all their money, saved and scrimped, ate little and worked hard, until they got enough to go home. They reached Hungary before the fighting was over and begged to be sent at once to the front, to have a chance to serve their country before the war was over."
"But how do people know about America?" asked Marushka.
"There are agents of the steamship companies who go from village to village trying to get the people to emigrate," said the Baroness. "They tell them that in America one finds gold rolling about in the streets and that there everyone is free and equal. Our people believe it and go there. Many of those who go are bad and discontented or lazy here at home. When they getto America and find that gold does not roll in the streets and that they must work for it if they want it, they are more discontented than ever, and the people of America think that Hungarians are lazy and good for nothing. When they come home they talk in the villages of the grand things they did in America and make the people here discontented and unhappy."
"Why don't the people ask them, if America was so nice, why did they not stay there?" asked Marushka, and the Baroness smiled.
"Those of us who have estates to take care of wish they would," she said. "The returned emigrant is one of the problems of Hungary."
"Why are there so many beggars?" asked Marushka. "I never saw one in Harom Szölöhoz."
"That is a prosperous village with akind over-lord," said the Baroness. "But there are so many beggars in Hungary that they have formed themselves into a kind of union. In some towns there is a beggar chief who is as much a king in his way as is His Majesty the Emperor. The chief has the right to say just where each beggar may beg and on what days they may beg in certain places. The beggars never go to each other's begging places, and if anyone does, the other beggars tell the police about him and he is driven out of town.
"In some provinces the very old and sick people are sent to live with the richest householders. Of course no one would ever refuse to have them, for alms asked in the name of Christ can never be refused, and as our gracious Emperor has said, 'Sorrow and suffering have their privileges as well as rank.'"
"He must be a very good Emperor," said Marushka. "It seems to me that you are a very wonderful lady and that you know everything. It is interesting to know all about these things. When I grow up I am going to know all about Magyarland."
people riding in car"'ACROSS THE RIVER YOU SEE BUDA,' SAID THE BARONESS"
The journey in the train was even more exciting for the children than that in the motor, and they enjoyed very much hearing about the various places through which they passed.
When they reached Buda-Pest, Marushka was dumbfounded, for she had never imagined anything so beautiful. The train rolled into the huge station, with its immense steel shed and glass roof, upon which the sun beat like moulten fire. The children followed the Baroness through the gate and into the carriage, which rattled away so quickly that it swayed from side to side, for in Hungary people are proudof their fine horses and always drive as fast as they can.
Marushka caught glimpses of broad, well-paved streets and large, handsome buildings, as the Baroness pointed out the opera house, theatres, churches, museums, and the superb houses of parliament built upon the banks of the Danube.
"Across the river you see Buda," said the Baroness. "In old times Buda was very old-fashioned, but in the last twenty years the royal palace has been built and many other costly buildings, and soon it will be as handsome as Pest. The improvements within the last ten years are wonderful. The streets are clean and neat, no ugly signs are permitted upon the houses, no refuse on the streets, and the citizens vie with each other in trying to make that side of the river as beautiful as this. The Emperor takes great interest in the enterprise."
"You speak about the Emperor sometimes," said Marushka. "And other times about the King. Who is the King?"
"The same as the Emperor," replied the Baroness. "You see, Austria and Hungary have been united under one government, and the King of Hungary is Emperor of Austria. There were many wars fought before this arrangement was made, and all the different peoples of the empire agreed to live peaceably together."
"How long has Hungary had a king?" asked Marushka.
"Oh, for years and years," said the Baroness. "It was about the twelfth century when theAranybulla[13]was made, which gave to the nobles the right to rebel if the king did not live up to the constitution. See! There are the barracks and the soldiers drilling. The country boys who comeup to be trained are sometimes so stupid that they don't know their right foot from the left. So the sergeant ties a wisp of hay on the right foot and a wisp of straw on the left. Instead of saying, right-left, to teach them to march, he saysszelma-szalma. Isn't it droll?"
"What is that building by the river?" asked Marushka. "The one with the little turrets and the tower before which the geese are swinging?"
"That, my little goose girl, is the Agricultural Building, and should you go inside you would find specimens of every kind of food raised in Hungary. But here we are at the hotel where we shall spend the night. You must have some supper and then hurry to bed, for to-morrow is the fête day of St. Stephen, and all must be up early to see the procession."
Marushka was so sleepy the next daythat she could only yawn and rub her eyes when the maid called her at five o'clock to dress for the fête.
The twentieth of August, the feast of St. Stephen, is the greatest fête of the year in Hungary.
Marushka and Banda Bela were very much excited over it, for they had often heard of the fête but had never supposed they would have the good fortune to see it.
"Come, children," the Baroness said as they hastily ate their breakfast. "We must hurry away. Hear the bells and the cannon! Every church in the city is ringing its chimes. We must be in the Palace Square by seven or we will miss some of the sights."
"I think the High-Born Baron and his Gracious Lady are the finest sights we shall see," whispered Banda Bela to Marushka, and the Baroness caught the wordsand smiled at him. There was a subtle sympathy between these two, the high and the lowly, the Magyar noblewoman and the Gypsy boy, a sympathy born, perhaps, of the love of music which swayed them both.
Marushka felt wonderfully fine as their carriage rolled into the Palace Square, where the procession in honour of St. Stephen was forming. It was a gorgeous sight, for all were dressed in their gayest attire, and officers, soldiers, prelates, and guard of honour from the palace made a continual line of conflicting hues.
While the procession was passing Marushka almost held her breath, then, as the golden radiance of colour flashing in the sunlight streamed past, she clapped her hands in glee, and cried:
"Oh, your Gracious High-Bornness! Isn't it splendid! How glad I am thatSt. Stephen is the Magyar saint and that I am a Magyar!" The child's eyes were shining, her cheeks flushed, her hair a golden coronet in the sunshine, and she looked like a beautiful little princess.
At the sound of her voice an officer in uniform, who was passing, turned and looked into the child's face, then glanced from her to the Baroness, who waved her hand in greeting. He doffed his cap and then came to the carriage.
"Good morning, Count. It is long since I have seen you in Buda-Pest. Are you not marching to-day?" the Baroness said.
"No, Madame." The officer had a kind face, but it seemed very sad to Marushka. She thought she had seen him before, but did not remember where until Banda Bela whispered that it was the officer who had given them money for Marushka's top boots at the fair.
"I was on duty at the palace this morning, but am returning home at once. My wife is not very well," he said.
"It is long since I have seen her. Will she receive me if I drive out to your home?" the Baroness asked.
"She will be glad to see you," he said, "though she sees but few since her ill health."
"I shall drive out to-day with these little folk, to whom I am showing the sights," said the Baroness.
The count's eyes fell upon Banda Bela, and he gave a quick smile.
"Why, this is the little genius who played the violin so wonderfully well down at the village fair," he said; and Banda Bela smiled, well pleased at being remembered.
"The little girl is yours?" he asked. The Baroness hesitated.
"No," she said. "She is not mine. She is the child of a friend of mine." Marushka wondered what good Aszszony Semeyer would say to hear herself spoken of as a friend of the Baroness, and, amused, she looked up at the Count with a beaming smile. He started a little and then stared at her fixedly, just as the Baroness with a hasty adieu bade the coachman drive on.
"Madame," he asked quickly, as the horses started. "Who is the friend whose child this is?" The Baroness looked back at him over her shoulder.
"That I cannot tell you now," she said. "This afternoon at your castle I will askyouto tellme!"
FOOTNOTE:[13]Hungarian Magna Charta.
[13]Hungarian Magna Charta.
[13]Hungarian Magna Charta.
"OH, THE EYES OF MY MOTHER!"
"Oh, High-Born Graciousness, what is that beautiful street we are driving into?" asked Marushka, as they drove out in the afternoon, and the coachman turned the horses into a magnificent avenue.
"This is Andrássy-ut, the famous boulevard, which leads to the park," replied the Baroness. "We are driving toward Os Budavará, the Park of Buda-Pest, and it is one of the most beautiful sights in the world."
As she spoke they entered the park, and the children gazed in wonder at its beauty. Swans floated on the miniature lakes; in the feathery green woods bloomed exquisite Persian lilacs, children played on the greengrass beneath the willows or ran to and fro over the rustic bridges. On the Corso the fashionables drove up and down in the smartest of costumes, their turnouts as well appointed as any in Paris or London. The men were many of them in uniform, the women, some of them with slanting dark eyes almost like Japanese, were graceful and elegant.
"The skating fêtes held in the park in winter are the most beautiful things you can imagine," said the Baroness. "The whole country is white with snow. Frost is in the air, the blood tingles with the cold. Ice kiosks are erected everywhere, and coloured lights are hung up until the whole place seems like fairyland, and the skaters, dressed from top to toe in furs, look like fairy people skimming over the ice."
"It must be beautiful," said Marushka.
"But what is that man playing?"
"Thetaragato, the old-fashioned Magyar clarinet," was the answer, and the old instrument seemed to tell tales of warlike days, its deep tones rolling out like the wind of the forest. A boy near by played an impudent littletilinka(flageolet), and Banda Bela said:
"That never sounded like real music to me; only the violin sings. It is like the wind in the trees, the rustle of the grass on the moor, the dash of the waves on the shore, the voice of the mother to her child."
"Banda Bela, you are poet as well as musician," said the Baroness. "You shall never go back to Harom Szölöhoz to live. You shall stay with me. I will sing to your music, and you shall study music till you are the greatest violin player in all Hungary."
"When a Gypsy child comes into the world they say his mother lays him on the ground and at one side places a purse and at the other a violin," said Banda Bela. "To one side or other the baby will turn his head. If he turns to the purse he will be a thief, if he turns to the violin he will earn his living by music. My mother said she would give me no chance to choose ill, but an old woman near by laid forth both the purse and the violin and I turned my head to the violin and reached for it with my baby hand. When they placed the bow in my hand I grasped it so tight they could scarce take it from me."
"Banda Bela," said Marushka, and her tone was pettish. "You like your violin better than you do me!" The boy laughed.
"My violin has earned you many a supper, Little One; do not dislike it!"
"Oh, Your Graciousness, what are those strange things?" cried Marushka. "They are not automobiles, are they?"
"No, my child, they are the new steam thrashing machines which the government has just bought, and is teaching the peasants to use instead of the old-fashioned ways of thrashing. Now we are getting into the country. See how beautifully the road winds along the Danube! Is it not a wonderful river? There is a famous waltz called the 'Beautiful Blue Danube' and the river is certainly as blue as the sky. See that queer little cemetery among the hills. I have often wondered why some of the gravestones in the village cemeteries had three feathers and coloured ribbons on them."
"If you please, Your Graciousness," said Banda Bela, "I can tell you. That is for the grave of a girl who has died aftershe was of an age to be married, yet for whom no one had offered the buying money. Aszszony Semeyer told me that."
"Aszszony Semeyer told me that every peasant kept a wooden shovel hung upon the wall of his house with which to throw in the last shovelful of earth upon his loved ones," said Marushka with a shudder. "Ugh! I didn't like that."
"Very few people like to think about death," said the Baroness. "See that thicket of prickly pears beside the road? Once when I was a little girl and very, very naughty, I ran away from my nurse and to hide from her I jumped over the wall and landed in just such a thicket as that. I think the pears must be naughty, too, for they liked that little girl and would not let her go. The thorns pricked her legs and tore her frock and scratched her hands when she tried to get her skirts loose, untilshe cried with pain and called 'Kerem jojoro ide'[14]to her nurse."
"I did not think the Gracious Baroness was ever naughty," said Marushka.
"The Gracious Baroness was quite like other little girls, my dear," she said, smiling. "Ah, I have a little twinge of toothache!" she exclaimed.
"That is too bad." Marushka was all sympathy. "Aszszony Semeyer says that if you will always cut your finger nails on Friday you will never have toothache."
"Is that so? Then I shall certainly try it," said the Baroness soberly. "Do you see the gleam of white houses between the trees? Those are the beautiful villas and castles of the Svabhegy, the hill overlooking the Danube, and here live many of my very good friends.
"I am going to visit one of them for alittle while and you must be good, quiet children and sit in the carriage while I go in to make my call. Then, perhaps, I will take you in for a few moments to see the house, for it is a very beautiful one. See! here we are at the gate," as the carriage turned into a beautifully ornamented gateway, above which was carved the legend:If you love God and your Country, enter; with malice in your heart, go your way.
The driveway wound through beautiful grounds, and through the trees were seen glimpses of the Danube. The house itself was white and stood at the crest of the hill overlooking the river.
"This place belongs to the Count Ándrassy," said the Baroness. "He has also another place in the Aföld and is very wealthy. When my grandfather went to visit his grandfather in the old days, theyonce took the wheels from his carriage and tied them to the tops of the tallest poplar trees on the estate to prevent his leaving. Another time they greased the shafts with wolf fat, so that the horses would not allow themselves to be harnessed up, for they are so afraid of the wolf smell. Still another time they hid his trunks in the attic so that it was three months before my grandfather finally got away.
"That was old-fashioned hospitality. Here we are at the door. Sit quietly here and I will return," and the Baroness sprang down. There was a swish of her silken skirts and the front door closed behind her.
The children chattered gaily to each other of all they had seen and heard since they had left Harom Szölöhoz, and Marushka said:
"It seems so long since we have left thevillage, Banda Bela; somehow it seems as if we would never go back."
"I think you never will." Banda Bela spoke a little sadly. "Were you happy there, Little One?"
"Oh, yes," she said brightly. "I was happy with you and Aszszony Semeyer. Only, when I saw other children with their mothers, there was the ache right here—" she laid her hand on her heart.
"I know," said Banda Bela. "I have that always. Only when I play my violin do I forget."
"But I cannot play the violin, nor can I do anything, only embroider that horribleHimmelbelt," and Marushka pouted, while Banda Bela laughed at her.
"Think how proud you will be some day to show thatHimmelbeltto your husband," he said, but just then the Baroness and the Count came out of the house together.
"What do you think?" the Baroness asked the Count.
"I think you are right, but Maria shall decide," he answered. "We will say nothing to her and her heart will speak."
"Come in, children," said the Baroness, who looked strangely excited. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were flushed, while the Count's face was pale as death and he looked strangely at Marushka.
"Banda Bela," said the Baroness, "the Countess is not very well. She loves music as you and I do, and I want you to come in and play for her. She is very sad. Once she lost her dear little daughter, and you may play some gentle little songs for her. It may give her pleasure. It is a beautiful thing, Banda Bela, to give pleasure to those who are sad."
The Baroness chattered on as they enteredthe house. Marushka looked up at the Count's face. Sad as it was she felt drawn toward him. She saw him watching her closely and smiled up at him with the pretty, frank smile which always lighted up her face so charmingly.
"High-Born Count," she said shyly, "I have to thank you for the first present I ever received in all my life."
"What was that, Little One?" he asked.
"The top boots which Banda Bela bought for me at the fair at Harom Szölöhoz. They were bought with the florin you gave to Banda Bela for his playing. They were so nice!" She dimpled prettily.
"I am glad they gave you pleasure. Come, we will go in and hear Banda Bela play," said the Count, holding out his hand. Marushka slipped her hand into his and he led her into the house, enteringby the large hall, on the walls of which hung deer horns and wolf heads, while a huge stuffed wolf stood at one end, holding a lamp in his paws. The Count was a great sportsman and had shot many of these animals himself in the forests of the Transylvania.
Banda Bela tuned his violin and then began to play. It seemed to Marushka as if she had never before heard him play so beautifully. Many things he played, all soft and dreamy, with a gentle, haunting sadness through them, until at last he struck into a peculiar melody, a sort of double harmony of joy and sorrow, which he had never played before.
"What is that, Banda Bela?" demanded the Baroness. "Who wrote it, what are the words?"
"If you please, Your Graciousness"—the boy flushed, "it is but a Gypsy songof sorrow. The words are but in my own heart."
"Strange boy," she thought, but at that moment the door opened and a lady hastily entered the room. She was tall and very beautiful, with great masses of corn-coloured hair and deep blue eyes, but her face had a look of terrible sadness.
"Arpád!" she exclaimed. "What is this music? It makes me weep for my lost one and I am nearly blind with weeping now." Her eyes, seeking her husband's, fell upon Marushka, who during the music had been leaning against the Count, his arm around her. The Countess' eyes travelled up and down the little figure, then sought her husband's face with a sort of eager, frightened questioning.
"Arpád!" she cried. "Arpád! Who is this child?"
"Maria, my dearest! I have brought herhere that you may tell me who she is," he said, trying to speak calmly.
She drew the little girl toward her and Marushka went willingly and stood looking into the sweet face of the Countess.
"Such a likeness," whispered the Baroness. "They are as like as two sisters."
Then, all in a moment, the Countess gathered Marushka into her arms and covered the child's face with kisses. "You are mine," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "Mine! Arpád! I know it is our little daughter come back to us after all these years. My heart tells me it is she!"
Marushka looked frightened for a moment, then she clung around her mother's neck, and the Baroness quietly drew Banda Bela from the room. From the hall the sound of the Gypsy boy's violin came as he played, with all his soul in his touch, the song of his father: