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diff --git a/75466-0.txt b/75466-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ee721c --- /dev/null +++ b/75466-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3839 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75466 *** + + + + + + + FAMOUS STORIES + FROM FOREIGN COUNTRIES + + + + + _Other Books by Edna Worthley Underwood_ + + + _SONGS FROM THE PLAINS_ + _SONGS OF HAFIZ_ + _Translated from the Persian_ + + + + + FAMOUS STORIES FROM + FOREIGN COUNTRIES + + TRANSLATED BY + + EDNA WORTHLEY UNDERWOOD + + [Illustration] + + BOSTON + THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY + 1921 + + + + + _Copyright, 1921, by_ + THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY + + THE FOUR SEAS PRESS + BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + Page + +THE LITTLE BLANCHEFLEURE 9 + +By Rudolf Hans Bartsch + +THE EXCHANGE 31 + +By Svatopluk Čech + +CHAI 41 + +By Awetis Aharonean + +IN PRISON 53 + +By Awetis Aharonean + +THE ELOPEMENT 65 + +By Alexander Petőfi + +SAIDJAH 73 + +By Multatuli + +ABISAG 83 + +By Jaroslav Vrchlický + +THE KING’S CLOTHES 99 + +By Koloman Mikszáth + +WHEN THE BRIGHT NIGHTS WERE 113 + +By Petri Rosegger + +THE POINT OF VIEW 121 + +By Alexander L. Kielland + +MY TRAVELING COMPANION 135 + +By Pietari Päivärinta + + + + + DEDICATED + WITH ESTEEM AND GRATITUDE TO + PROFESSOR CALVIN THOMAS + SCHOLAR AND LINGUIST + + + + + THE LITTLE BLANCHEFLEURE + + By RUDOLF HANS BARTSCH + + + + + BARTSCH + + +Rudolf Hans Bartsch is the Austrian writer who won the attention of +world critics so quickly by the three books--_Vom sterbenden Rokoko_, +_Elizabeth Kött_, and _Zwölf aus der Steiermark_. + +In Vellhagen and Klasing’s Monthly, Dr. Carl Busse says of him: +“Because he is such a creator--by the grace of God--while all that +he writes is so genuine that it seems to have come from some divine +source, we love this Austrian writer. No story teller of to-day +surpasses him in depth of contents, and charm and grace of surface. Few +possess such natural gifts.” + +The story we give is from _Vom sterbenden Rokoko_, a book in which he +paints powerful and delightful pictures of the 18th Century. + + + + + THE LITTLE BLANCHEFLEURE + + +My friend Fra̋neli Thaller from Solathurn, was telling me about an old +picture. + +From the second hand dealer, Hirschli, by the Hafnersteg, I bought a +picture of the little Marquise Blanchefleure, who, with a great part of +the French nobility--in that year of bad taste, 1792--lost her charming +head. Here in the picture she has her head; and that head has a high +coiffure, and astonishingly arched eyebrows--just as if they had been +drawn by the brush of Watteau--and a merry looking little face. She is +charming, and she fills my heart with longing. + +You do not know anything about the little Marquise Blanchefleure, do +you, who was always right? You do not know anything, of course, do you, +of the ridiculous passion of my great grandfather, the Swiss, Thaller, +whose portrait in enamel hangs just below hers, nor of the foolish +actions of the Jacobins, those people devoid of all taste and charm? + +No? + +Well, the little Marquise Blanchefleure was always right. She was right +to come into this world as a duchess. Remote blood of Savoy--although +somewhat far down in the list of rank of Versailles--but still she +was a little duchess, who one day would blossom out into the merriest +Marquise in the Court of the King. She was right that she was better +than all other creatures in her father’s castles, villages and estates; +better than the music and dance teacher, the overseer, peasant, maid, +ass, ox, serf, and all else that was there. She lived laughing and +merry, and the world bent before her beauty and splendor. Just as the +wind sweeps over grain fields, making them bow and bend, so crowds +of people bent before her; _compliments en mille_. She was right to +marry Marquis Massimel de la Réole de Courtroy, over whose stupidity +the court laughed so that he became indispensable to the king, and was +always present at his _lever_ to ensure good humor for the day. She +had lovers in plenty, men rich enough to gratify all the caprices of a +Blanchefleure. + +Her laughing habit of command is illustrated by the following incident. +Every one knows that in the French army it was forbidden--under penalty +of death--to sing the _kuhreihen_. The reason was because the awkward +German children of the Alps--when they heard it sung or played--would +either run away like a herd of cattle, or die of homesickness. + + _Zu Strasburg auf der Schanz, + Da ging mein Trau’ren an.... + Das Alphorn hört ich drüben wohl austimmen, + Ins Vaterland muszt ich hinüber schwimmen,-- + Das ging nicht an._ + +And my great, great, grandfather, Primus Thaller, sang the _kuhreihen_ +in the midst of the streets of Paris! He stood in the courtyard of the +Swiss barracks, where the sand is yellow and glowed in the light of the +setting sun, and where the soldiers were getting ready to go into the +city. This was the way it happened. He had just received a letter from +America, from his brother Quintus, who was six years younger, and had +been a drummer boy in the regiment of the Prince of Orleans. It was the +typical letter of an eighteen year old boy who wrote enthusiastically +of Lafayette, Washington, Freedom, and the rights of the individual. +Young Quintus said that the Regiment of the Lilies would return to +France; over their heads were invisible, prophetic tongues of fire, +which, in France, would burst out into a great conflagration, great +words; Freedom! Equality! Fraternity! + +Great words? Freedom, equality? Then my poor, lonesome great +grandfather thought how all this had existed in his own home country +for hundreds of years--in Appenzell, from which village he had come +with the hope of winning fame and gold. And he thought how they were +bringing these ideas from America, across the sea, to proclaim them +new and world astonishing, while in his own little home village, they +flourished quietly. The great laws of the human race are cause neither +for a great intoxication nor a great jubilation. They represent merely +a careful estimating; for the great mass of humanity they are meat, +bread, shelter, hearth, a little sunshine, and green grass, or hard +labor, that the beast of destruction may sleep in safety. + +In his home in Appenzell, they already had that which they whispered so +carefully in Paris. He thought of his circumspect uncles, their cows +and calves, their fields and Alps. It is surely the Paradise of the +human race, my dear Switzerland, thought the sergeant--and--thus deep +in thought, without knowing what he was doing, he sang the _kuhreihen_. + +There it was and done for. + +The news from America had put more rage into people’s hearts than my +honest great, great grandfather Primus could estimate. + +For a long time discipline in the army had been neglected. There were +men of his own country in the regiment, and a dozen joined softly the +refrain of my great grandfather’s song, so that the _kuhreihen_ rang +far and loud. No one had sung it before for decades, and therefore no +one had been punished. But now it sounded quite differently than in +the olden days. Not a song of exile and homesickness! No; now it was a +song of defiance. They reveled, and shouted the song. But although my +grandfather stole away when he saw they were destroying the spirit of +his song, and although only a couple of Appenzell cow-herds ran away +and deserted, he was the one who had started it. They arrested him. +According to law, he must be punished with death. The death penalty was +about the only thing that bound the subjects to their king in those +days. I do not know of course whether it is the same way in other +countries to-day. + +It was the King’s duty to revive the punishment of the old law. At his +_lever_ he thought earnestly over the fate of my great grandfather, +Primus. When the Marquis Massimel de la Réole de Courtroy approached +him laughing merrily he said: “What shall we do with this fellow, +Primus? He has brought into fashion an old piece of stupidity.” +The Marquis did not really know about the subject of conversation, +so he said impulsively: “Sire, if it is a question of fashion, why +not turn it over to my wife to decide?” The entire court laughed, +and His Majesty, who was an agreeable person, laughed too. He had +procured delay--which was pleasing to him--so the fate of my great, +great grandfather rested in the charming hands of the little Marquise +Blanchefleure, who at that moment was tying the ribbons of the morning +cap of Marie Antoinette. The _lever_ of this enchanting, frivolous +Queen began an hour later, but the Marquis, as husband of his wife, +and messenger of the king, was already there. In the meantime he had +informed himself about the case of Primus Thaller, and explained it to +the Queen and the Marquise. Madame Blanchefleure clapped delightedly +her little hands. A Swiss! How charming! I beg the handsome King of +France to give him to me, to build a Swiss dairy for me in La Réole, +and an Alp, and get me some dappled cows. + +The Queen laughed and agreed. + +“He must get some real cow-bells, a grey coat with a red waistcoat, +a shepherd’s hat, and blue ribbons the color of the sky. In June our +Imperial Majesty will visit La Réole, and then, on top of the charming +Alp which he has built, we will make him sing the _kuhreihen_, so all +can hear it. Is not that true, beautiful Queen?” + +The merry, frivolous Queen laughed and agreed, and the King pardoned +my great, great grandfather, who had been the cause of such a joyful +occurrence. Then Herr Primus had an audience with Madame Blanchefleure, +in order to thank her for his life. + +He had proved that he was useless as a soldier. He appeared before +her in the little round hat, and the peasant clothes of Appenzell. +Because of her curiosity and excitement over the situation, Madame +Blanchefleure had cold hands and flaming cheeks. When the pitiful, +awkward, grey figure of the poor cow-herd was ushered in, her breath +stopped. She had pictured to herself a powerful revolutionist and +popular agitator, whose words were flame, and here came a little +commonplace law-book of citizens’ rights; good, honest, quiet, a +regular--“You give me that and I’ll give you this.” + +Can you make a guess as to what Madame Blanchefleure did? When he +entered and said to her with great sincerity: “It was good of Your +Grace to turn your attention to a poor fellow like me,” she looked +at his face, because his clothes and his personal appearance were so +unimportant. He had our grey, keen eyes, an honest, narrow face; high +temples, thin nose; only youth gave a sort of gentleness to this +unpleasant Cato-face. He was so unshakable and self-centered, that ten +measures of wine could not change him, nor falling in love, nor the +political upheavals of a period of revolution. He stood in front of her +as the very symbol of reliability, with his two little legs spread wide +apart--an old habit of the Swiss--inherited through generations. But +she observed this commonplace little face and thought: + +“I’ll bring him to the point where he shall say of me: _elle me fait +troubler_.” This was the standpoint from which she regarded men. + +“But listen to me,” she began amazed, “you! You have sung? But you do +not look in the least like it.” + +“I can not sing. I just came to thank you.” + +“Then how could you sing your _ranz de vaches_?” + +“Oh--it just came--from the inside of me.” + +“Were you homesick?” + +“No; I only just thought that Appenzell was better than Paris.” + +“Good heavens! And you want to go away from here? What have we done to +you? You are slighting us. We, we love you Swiss. You are the honest +little mirror in which we see ourselves just as we are. O please say +something rude to me!” + +“I can’t! I don’t know you well enough.” + +“O--then you don’t know Paris very well. How is it possible that no one +has fallen in love with you here? In Paris--everyone is loved by some +one. Even soldiers have sweethearts... How can it be that our pretty +children and women have not said a good word to you about Paris? You +have a sweetheart, of course? Or you have several? Perhaps you have too +many?” + +But my good great grandfather had no sweetheart in Paris, although he +was a sergeant. He always wanted one with a blond, sunny face, and that +kind he could not find here. The eyes of Parisian women are twinkling +stars shining over secret street corners; they always lure one around a +corner. My great, great grandfather always walked straight ahead. + +That he said to her, but of course in the better language which my +honorable great grandfather spoke. + +“Good Heaven!” declared Blanchefleure, “how could one make up to you? +Perhaps I should try if I were not married.” + +Poor Primus lifted his astonished grey eyes and looked at her, in +order the better to penetrate the meaning behind the silk and ostrich +feathers, glittering clothes, and gilded furniture. He looked deep +and earnestly into the charming, tender little face, so expressive of +unmixed joy, in the gay, opera setting from which it looked out. + +He began to feel sad because she was married. She really resembled a +sunbeam. + +“Can’t you say anything at all?” begged Blanchefleure. + +“_Krüzigts Herrgöttli!_” stammered poor Primus. + +“You say you might have tried it with me?” + +“What?” she questioned delighted. + +Then he spoke French again. “You ought not to play any jokes on a poor +fellow like me.” + +“No, of course not,” she laughed. “I was only going to say that it’s a +misfortune for us both. Just think! I haven’t any real sweetheart now, +and I’m just as deserted as you are.” + +“But haven’t you the merry Marquis?” + +“Why I’m married to him!” she almost sobbed, so convinced was she +of her own misfortune. “Can you understand at all--you who are from +Switzerland where every one chooses as he wishes, what it means to be +born a Princess and to be sold according to appraisement?” + +“_Ei, ja_,” nodded Primus. “With us in Appenzell, no peasant who owned +fifty cows would give his girl to a peasant who didn’t own so many. +That is good for the family.” + +“How is it?” + +“Keeps them from becoming poor.” + +“Are you very poor?” + +“If I hadn’t been I wouldn’t have become a soldier.” + +At this moment the little Marquise asked Herr Primus, if he would +like to set up a dairy for her in La Réole--like those in his home, +in Appenzell. My great grandfather twirled his round hat in his hand +and fought the sternest battle of his life. His honest Swiss mind was +interested in just one thing, how much gold he could get. Twice he +began, looked up in the gay, sunshine face, and for the life of him, +could not get the question out of his mouth. So he said yes without any +conditions. He had even forgotten his Swiss reckoning in this charming +interview. It would have been all over with him in Paris the first of +May in the year 1789. + + * * * * * + +It was lucky for him that he never saw La Réole. Then a quiet tragedy +would have passed over him and no one been the wiser except Madame +Blanchefleure, who would have found it all very amusing. The terrible, +prodigious Revolution prevented Madame from putting her charming plan +into execution. + +That great Lord, Marquis Massimel de la Réole de Courtroy, enjoyed the +distinguished honor of having his head cut off, immediately after the +amiable King, which occurrence--no matter what scorners may say--cost +him his life. This act was one of the proofs of the equality of all +men, because the Revolution said so. Madame Blanchefleure in spite of +the sweetest of tears, together with hundreds of the friends who had +idled with her in those golden gardens of Versailles, was imprisoned +in the dungeon of the Temple, along with the flower of the nobility +of witty, elegant France. Professors, academicians, fashionable +painters, enchanting poets. In fact the choicest spirits of France +were here. A company composed entirely of men of noble birth, of +men of distinguished career, whose important heredity made them +dangerous--(The Revolution had a sharp eye for just such people). An +assembly such as only could be found in France--grace, wit, charm, +superior habits of living. + +It was a glorious thing, the way they amused themselves here, and the +way they went to death. Madame Blanchefleure was as much at home +with these distinguished spirits, as a butterfly which one shelters +in a hot house from the cold of winter. The death sentence transforms +commonplace people into sad figures of tragedy. But these people--the +most finely constructed the world has ever seen--played it through +like a comedy. They met death defiant and brave, with head erect--_en +rococo_--just as they had lived. + +And now about my great grandfather, Primus Thaller! Since that first +of May he had not been able to forget little Blanchefleure, with the +flower face. He thought at first that it was just gratitude on his +part, and carried her picture about as a monk would the likeness of +the Virgin. The great Revolution swept away, along with impertinent, +merry Versailles, and the old nobility, every vestige of the plan for +the dairy at La Réole. But the little Marquise remembered about honest +Primus Thaller who nearly lost his life because of the ancient decree. +He became an officer, a captain upon the spot. He was assigned to a +regiment, all whose distinguished leaders had been killed, and in their +places saloon keepers, errand boys, and street urchins had been put; +in fact all the distinguished do-nothings who had been elevated by the +Revolution. He did not feel very comfortable, but he took the money and +that pleased him. But he kept thinking all the time: “I wonder what has +become of little Blanchefleure?” + +Then he heard that the Marquis had been beheaded, and that the little +widow was in the dungeon of the Temple awaiting, perhaps, a similar +end. Ah!--at that thought the winds of freedom began to riot in his +heart! Now he knew that he was in love with her. Now she was a widow! +Now she was poorer than a cow-girl of Appenzell; now he could marry her. + +This logic surprised him as much as a mole hill in a meadow where the +bees hum. His brother, who had once belonged to the regiment of the +Prince of Orleans, did duty as watchman in the Temple. + +“_Du Quinteli!_ is there with you imprisoned a young woman who wears a +flowered silk, and three ostrich feathers in her hair?” + +“No,” replied Lieutenant Quintus, who had once been drummer boy. “I +haven’t seen any one like that! But perhaps she has taken off the +flowered silk. What’s her name?” + +Primus told her name and Quintus began to ponder. + +“I know her very well--a tidy little woman who said to me one day: “The +Americans do not understand anything of our fine life,” and as I was +about to tickle her under the chin, thinking I knew something about it, +she said: “A man has eyes and a dog has a nose, and that I was not as +good as a dog. From America nothing good can come.”” + +Just then a noble gentleman, Vicque d’Azur was brought into the Temple. +He had let the soldiers drag him along just any way, but now he heard +the two brothers talking and declared: + +“That is true--and it goes still deeper. One can despise this French +Revolution, but one can not help but be afraid of that cold, American, +little-shop-keeper way of thinking. A mind capable of forecasting +facts might indeed make this prophecy: The cultivation of Europe will +perish one day because of this shop-keeper thinking of the United +States. Because of this unfortunate apeing, we shall become just one +of America’s intellectual colonies; not much better than Greece since +Mummius destroyed inelegant Rome. Our artists will become like those +old ones--able only to wave broken wings of longing. The Americans will +then visit with a holy abhorrence the ruins of our life, which was much +too fine for them. Europe was original for the last time in May 1789.” +When he had finished speaking the soldiers shoved him forward. + +“Friends,” he said gently,--“I do not need any suggestions from +hostlers,” and disappeared within the dungeon of the Temple. + +“What does the fool mean?” queried Quintus. + +Primus thought about it, but he couldn’t make it clear. Then he asked +permission to speak to the little citizeness widow, Massimel. + +“Go down into the cellar and find her,” laughed Quintus. “I don’t dare +let her come out.” + +When he reached the cellar he was amazed, because what he saw surpassed +the power of the imagination. Soft, secretive sounds of violin, flute, +and bass-viol flattered the ear, and slipped along the wet walls, like +a little kitten on a silk dress. They were playing upon instruments +that had been smuggled in. M. Miradoux, first violinist of the Royal +Opera, had the violin; the flute, Vicomte Chantigny, whose breath could +perform just such wonders as the breath of the west wind. With the +tenor-viol the Strasburg canon, Avenarius, had grown humpbacked, and +the contra bass was played by the celebrated Abbé Mervioli of Florence. +A silver bribe--even under the Revolution--could bring golden music +into the dungeons of the Temple. + +The delicate serenade of Mozart! + +It worked wonders here in the twilight dark--Palaces towered in +their former royal splendor, and graciously listened to the amiable +inspirations of the Salzburg Music-Lord. The old days came back, +charmed into life, in defiance of the _Marseillaise_ and _Carmagnole_. +Around the dungeon walls sat noble lords in silk hose, and ladies in +thread lace, elegant and aristocratic, in the midst of misery--these +captives sacrificed to the fury of the mob. Knee crossed over knee, the +great lords sat, and the ladies, graceful heads resting upon slender +hands--nothing here but illustrious nobles. And over them floated the +fragile melodies of Wolfgang Amadés, graceful and enchanting, like +clouds of incense. + +Near the end of the Alegro there comes a passage lovelier than +all the rest of that lovely melody, as if suddenly the player had +remembered a soft, little hand that stroked his cheek. When this +passage came, Herr Primus heard behind him a whispered “_Ah!_” He +whirled about--Blanchefleure. She held up one little hand as a signal +that he should make no noise. Soon the music was over, and while the +lords and ladies stopped to congratulate the players, Captain Thaller +made his honorable proposal for the hand of the poor, pale, charming, +little Blanchefleure. She listened to him with astonishingly arched and +surprised brows, as he began, “Now you are a widow and just as poor as +any cow-girl of Appenzell--thank God.” + +“_Oh!_” she exclaimed doubtfully--“_Ah?_” + +“Now we soldiers are the whole thing. The Revolution thought it +annihilated the officer--and it made him the Lord God. I’ll take you +out of this hole--Quintus will find a way to do it.” + +“Wait,” said Blanchefleure--“there comes the minuet again.” + +In fact the musicians began to play again that enchanting melody of the +old days, dancing to which one said more with eyes and finger tips than +the plebian waltz knows. And the frivolous crowd took their places for +the dance. + +“Perhaps it is the last minuet,” said apologetically Blanchefleure, +with her graceful laugh. “I should never cease regretting not having +danced it--with you, M. Captain.” + +The poor young man looked down at her confused, as she took him by the +hand. + +“Don’t be afraid. We have now equality and fraternity. What--don’t you +believe in them?” + +The sweet, melancholy, coquettish dance of Frivolity which was about +to die, began. It was the minuet from _Don Giovanni_, and they played +it just before the stroke of fate--impertinent, frivolous and graceful +as the music. As they approached. Primus Thaller continued with his +honorable wooing. “I love you as no other and you must be my wife.” + +The teasing, backward movement of this dance of coquetry carried +Blanchefleure away from him. Her eyes laughed, but she said: “What +foolish things you think of. You haven’t any taste, my Friend.” + +Again the gentle rhythm of the dance brought them together; their hands +met. “You might have been my lover, down there, in the country--in La +Réole, where the cow-bells preach of nature. I always had my season of +return to nature.” + +And she bent back and stepped away from him with coquettish grace, +while the heart of poor Primus raged with flames, as if the great, +destructive Revolution were confined within his own body. Again she +danced back. “But to become Madame Thaller--my dear, good, honest +Friend from Appenzell! What _are_ you thinking of? One could, of +course, kiss you--just for fun! Ah!--it is too bad we could not have +played our comedy in La Réole. A stupid shame! Now we must renounce the +kiss! unless you are willing to put up with kissing my hand?” + +They had reached the place in the minuet, where--upon the +stage--Zerlina destroys the sweet frivolity. And, although the gallant +gentlemen, Miradoux, Vicomte Chantigny, Avenarius and Abbé Merivoli +changed the music for a brief uninterrupted return to a merry _da +capo_, Fate ordered the original setting. The door was thrown open and +a harsh saloon keeper’s voice tore in shreds the flowery chains that +bound their dream. + +“You--there--citizens and citizenesses! Peace--in the name of the +Republic!” + +The dancers knew what this interruption meant. It was the daily reading +of the names of those summoned to court--to hear their sentence read. +Out of the Temple the road lay along a dark street, with only one +little window of exit--into eternity--_the guillotine_. This time the +name of the little citizeness Massimel was read. + +“Here!” she called; but her face grew white. + +“Are you thinking of my offer of marriage?” asked Primus Thaller +stepping up behind her. The poor, pale Blanchefleure looked at him with +terrified eyes, above which arched her amazing eyebrows. + +“Ah!--God, my Friend!” she replied pensively. “You republicans can not +even let us enjoy the dance. Over there in the corner sits my little +maid, who insisted upon being imprisoned with me. Zénobe! Dance on +with this young fellow! Please excuse me on account of this ridiculous +interruption--and take her in my stead. She is a charming child. Adieu, +my Friend!” + +And M. Miradoux, the incorrigible of the _ancien regime_, began that +enchanting melody of Mozart, softly, softly--laughing gently, the +couples took their places as before. But little Zénobe did not dare to +join them. She wept for terror, and my great grandfather did not care +to dance with the little maid. He turned his back coldly on them all. + +That was the memorable minuet which Captain Primus Thaller danced +with the distinguished nobility of France. It was the last minuet of +the rococo period, and its grace and sweetness was interrupted by +the summons of the tribunal of the Jacobins. Captain Primus, with a +heavy heart, climbed the stairs back to the daylight, and little +Blanchefleure left the dungeon to appear before the tribunal. + +The trial room was like a wine shop. Four or five rough men crouched +about, dirty and evil of mind like savage peasant dogs. + +“Citizeness Blanchefleure Massimel? Widow?” snarled one of them. + +“If that is the way you wish--” + +“Formerly of the court of citizeness Antoinette Capet?” + +“Of whom are you speaking? _The Queen, you should say!_” + +“Ah!--should we? Write that down, Citizen Pouprac. She said Queen.” + +“I think that is sufficient,” growled Pouprac. Then he looked up +wickedly. + +“Why do you laugh, Citizeness? You are insulting the court! Why do you +laugh?” + +“Good Heavens--how you look!” chattered poor, little Blanchefleure, her +face turning deep red. + +“When one wears such trousers--as you!” she covered her little face +with her hands and laughed and laughed and laughed. + +Pouprac glanced at his trousers which were made of red, white and blue +cotton. They testified to his republican leanings. + +He jumped up in a rage, and stood on his short, wide-spread tiger legs. + +“You are condemned to death, Citizeness Massimel,” he roared. “You are +condemned because you have insulted the flag of France!” + +The little Marquise took her hands down from her face and looked at +him. She sniffed with her little nose, and arched her brows. + +“_You_--_you_ would judge me! Go wash yourself--and put on hose--before +you can be of any service whatever to me!” + +And she went away. They say she laughed upon the scaffold. + + * * * * * + +My great grandfather heard that she was not willing to have her hair +cut off. + +“Is that really necessary?” she asked. “The heads-man can use my hair +as a handle to hold my head up to show it to the crowd--as is the +custom.” + +When the _Sans-culotte_, in his huge apron, stood before her, she +shrugged the sweetest little shoulders and declared: “I don’t care! +I knew, of course, when you came to cut my head off, that you had no +aesthetic sense. And I have always been right.” + +After these last inspired words, she died, the poor, little, trembling +woman. She died, and all they who would have wept for her were dead, +too, or preparing to die. + +So no one knew what became of beautiful Blanchefleure, who had always +been right. And my poor, great grandfather he had never understood her. +Only I--only I! I understand her, I who bought her picture from the +second-hand dealer--as a sort of revenge upon them of a later day who +did not care to be a great, great grandmother. + +Lucky for her that she was not! She remained, instead, young--always +young--and an object of love. + +And I can love her as the honorable Primus Thaller loved her--only +better; with more intelligence, with more aesthetic joy. + +She was always right, and I long for her to-day. + + + + + THE EXCHANGE + + By SVATOPLUK ČECH + + + + + ČECH + +Svatopluk Čech was born in 1846 and ranks as one of the most important +figures of the literature of Bohemia, both in prose and verse. + +Among his popular ballads and story telling poems are--_The Lark_, _The +Smith of Lešetin_, _In Shadow of the Linden_, _The Goblet of Youth_. + +In prose he has written many stories and sketches distinguished by that +gay and fantastic humor which strikes us as peculiarly the property of +certain south-central races of Europe, such as the Poles, Bohemians, +and Hungarians. These stories by Čech frequently show the light touch +and splendid surface that is characteristic of French prose, with the +addition of a brilliant irony that drives home successfully the point +he wishes to make. Several volumes of stories of merit stand to the +credit of Čech. + + + + + THE EXCHANGE + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + +Here is the pocket book of the hero of this story, Mr. Alfred N--. I +ask you to take it and look into it. You see several compartments, and +in them,--_nothing_. We turn the pocket book upside down and shake it. +What falls out? Nothing. + +Twilight clings to the corners of the room. The clothes closet yawns +toward us--empty. The bed dreams in vain of luxurious pillows. The +book cases are empty. Poverty grins from every corner. The cold pipe +falls from the hands of the occupant of the room. The bitter smile +disappears; the eyelids close,--the golden dreams have vanished. + +Some one knocked softly. Alfred jumped up. Should he open the door? +It was probably a mistake. None of his acquaintances would come to +see him now because they knew he had nothing which they could borrow. +Cautiously he opened the door, being mindful of his worn trousers, and +the pitiful fragment of a coat that hung from his shoulders. + +A diminutive man stepped into the room. His neglected appearance fitted +exactly the words he said: + +“Old clothes--dear Sir! Aron pays--pays _fine_!” + +The bitter smile reappeared on the face of Alfred. + +“I have nothing!” he replied to the Jew. + +But the Jew did not permit himself to be dismissed so easily. + +He pushed his way into the room, and peered inquisitively about. + +“Perhaps you’ll find something. Old shoes--books. Aron buys everything, +everything, everything!” + +“Look for yourself,” commanded Alfred, bitterly. “Here is the clothes +closet; here are the book cases, here--” + +“As God is good, not a thing!” declared the Jew, amazed. “It’s as if it +has just been swept out! Too bad--Young Man! Too bad! Aron pays--pays +_fine_!” At these words he drew from his dirty caftan a leathern +purse and began to shake it. The bright sound of gold rang out; the +alluring voice of the metal, more alluring than the voice of a siren. +Alfred trembled at the sound. His eyes looked greedily upon the dirty +purse. Over the face of the Jew flashed lightning swift a look of +satisfaction. Patting lovingly the fat purse he continued: + +“Aron pays--pays _fine_! Aron buys everything, everything, everything!” + +“But can’t you see that I haven’t a thing to sell?” demanded Alfred +angrily. + +“Certainly the gentleman has _something_--for which Aron will pay many, +many pieces of gold--” + +“Stop this humbug, Jew! If you don’t, I’ll throw you down stairs and +straight into Abraham’s bosom!” + +“Aron knows what he says,” replied the Jew, in a wheedling, submissive +voice. “The gentleman has a precious jewel for which Aron will pay +whatever the gentleman may ask.” + +He plunged his bent fingers into the deep purse. Alfred followed the +gesture with sparkling eyes and replied: + +“Speak out! What is it that I can sell to you? What is it that I have +that I know nothing about?” + +The Jew came nearer and whispered: “_Character._” + +Alfred surveyed him with surprised eyes. “Character? Are you a fool?” + +The Jew stepped back, straightened up and spoke boastingly. + +“The gentleman is surprised? Well--Aron buys everything; worn out +clothes, the virtue of women, old umbrellas, honor, trash, and the +divine fire of genius, rabbits’ skins--Aron buys the entire world. Why +should he not buy character? Character is a rare thing nowadays--and +valuable. There are plenty of people without character--” + +Alfred regarded the speaker with terror. Through the window the last +light of the setting sun penetrated and gave the Jew a sort of ghostly, +inhuman appearance. The purse in his hand became red hot like a coal. +The unkempt hair and beard were changed into threads of gold. Gold +gleamed from every fold of his caftan. It gleamed from his features, +and it was as if two golden ducats shone from his eyes. The Demon of +Gold stood before him, bent of neck, with greedy claw-like fingers, +that were ready to fall upon any prey and crush the life-blood out. + +He covered his face with his two hands. When he looked up again the sun +had set, and the Jew had resumed his ordinary appearance. The nimbus of +gold had vanished. “Well, my dear Sir, will you sell your character? +Aron pays--pays _fine_. There is a great sale for character just +now--and not much to meet the demand. Will you sell? Aron will pay you +a prodigious sum.” + +The Jew took a ducat from the purse and held it up between his fingers. +Alfred looked longingly toward the shining circle, then he turned his +head away and replied firmly: “No,--I will not sell!” + +The Jew shook his head. + +“No? By heaven,--a fine character! I’ll give twice as much for it. +Three times--a noble character! No? I’ll make you a millionaire! You +shall dwell in palaces, drink wine of the choicest vintage, kiss the +sweetest lips--” + +Alfred looked about as if some beautiful vision floated before him in +space. Then he repeated with a sigh: “I will not sell.” + +“Well--just as the gentleman pleases. Keep your character together with +your misery. Aron will keep his gold. I bid you good day.” He threw the +ducats back into the purse, placed it in his caftan, and turned to go +away. In the door he paused and looked back. + +“Aron has a good heart. He does not like to leave a man like you in +such misery. Do you know something? I’ll lend you the gold, and you +pledge me your character. How does this offer please the gentleman?” + +Alfred meditated. He looked about the room; the closet was empty. The +bed had no pillows. The book cases were empty--everywhere poverty. +He made a despondent gesture. “Well, take it!--I pledge it.” Then he +paused. How could a person pawn his character? That was the dream of a +foolish brain. + +“I know what worries the gentleman. And Aron knows help for it, too.” +He took from his pocket some little pill boxes, opened and closed them. +“Look--here is your character,” he replied scornfully, tapping upon the +cover of a box. Alfred looked at the little box. In the dim light he +read the superscription: “Noble characters!” + +“Look---see how I classify character--all according to merit.” + +“Here you have old fashioned Bohemian characters. They belong to old +people--with long beards. Here are light characters--comparatively +cheap--but not durable. I have to guard them constantly against +changing winds. Sometimes politicians buy these characters for +presents. In this box are found stern, upright characters. They are +often found at army headquarters. But what do you care about them? +You’d rather see the money counted out.” He took out another purse and +piled shining ducats one upon another. Suddenly he paused. “In five +years, at this same hour, Aron will come again, no matter where you may +be. Then if you do not pay me back the sum with interest, the character +belongs to me.” + +Alfred nodded. The ghostly Jew grabbed deeper and deeper within the +purse. With fabulous swiftness gold coins were piled up to the ceiling +like great columns of marble. The purse evidently was inexhaustible. +The more gold he took out, the more gold there was in it. God give all +men a purse like this! + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +Five years passed. + +Alfred stood in the center of a merry crowd where champagne flowed +like a river. Diamonds flashed; silks and velvets rustled. Sparkling +fountains, bright shadows on water, penetrating perfumes, splendid +gardens,--all this the Demon of Gold had brought together in one +place. Alfred, too, has changed. He is heavier and more round bodied. +His cheeks glow with health; his eyes shine with contentment. It is +evident that he had been drinking from the cup of pleasure, with the +careful discernment of the epicure. Over there sits his wife. Is she +that beautiful motionless maiden, whose vision had so moved him five +years ago? Not at all! The ice of her heart had melted under the glow +of Alfred’s blazing ducats. The vision charmed him no more, that had +once enticed him. He did not love her and she did not love him. They +treated each other courteously before the world, but in private--what a +difference. + +The lack of character of Alfred was an open secret. Every one remarked +about it, yet he carried his head high, and everyone bowed before +him. His breast was covered with orders. The highest honors were his. +Fathers held him up to their sons as model. “See,”--they say--“how he +has advanced.” + +In that same garret where he used to sit, there is a pale youth in +shabby slippers and ragged coat, dedicating to him a long poem about +the exalted goal of human endeavor. + +And I--I would rather write an Ode to Gold! Such an one were worthy of +the age. Dershawin’s “Ode to God” is old fashioned. It has no merit for +our age except the form in which the Emperor of China has preserved +it--in letters of gold upon a banner of silk. + +Gold is the god of the age! Heaven announces its glory; above the moon +(on the dollar), and the stars (on small silver pieces) shines the +giant ducat--the sun. Upon earth we pray to it--in the monstrance and +the cross. Under different names we serve it; some as faith, love, +right, truth,--others in sinful Mammon. For the sake of gold we preach +morality, we shed blood on the fields of battle. For the sake of +gold--with a dull pen--I write this satire. O! shining, mighty, divine +metal--I praise you, prostrated in the dust before you. Surely, Dear +Brothers in Gold, you will pardon me this diversion. + +A servant resplendent in gold braid, announced to Alfred, that a dirty +Jew was waiting who insisted upon coming in. + +“Take him to my study,” he ordered. + +It is a softly sensuous, luxurious room. From base-board to ceiling, +the walls are covered with pictures of beautiful women, gorgeously +dressed. + +Again Alfred and the ghostly Jew are face to face. + +“You are late,” said Alfred, glancing at the clock. + +“Yes--on account of bribes,” was the reply. “And I lost a noble +character, too, which I bought abroad. On the boundary they confiscated +it. One would think character contraband of war.” + +“You bring my pawned pledge back, do you?” interrupted Alfred. + +“Of course, Your Grace!” replied the Jew, and drew from his pocket the +little dirty box. + +“Keep it! Keep it! I don’t care anything about it. I am convinced that +one lives better without character. But there is something I’d like to +sell you.” + +“Well?” + +“A little feeling of shame that has remained with me--and sometimes +makes me uncomfortable.” + +Aron shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and laughed disagreeably. + +“Nothing doing! The article is out of fashion--something nobody buys. +As a proof--Your Grace--I beg you to consider these portraits which +hang upon your walls--” + + + + + CHAI + + By AWETIS AHARONEAN + + + + + AHARONEAN + +In the village of Igdir--not far from the boundaries where Russia, +Persia and Turkey are close together--this writer was born in 1866. He +went to school in the village, and later attended the famous Armenian +cloister school, Etschmiadsin. After finishing the prescribed course +of study there, he taught for ten years, until, in fact, the Armenian +schools were closed. Then in order to earn a livelihood, he became a +news-paper man, and his activities took him to Switzerland and to the +Caucasus. Later he obtained an editorial position in Tiflis. + +He has published a good many short stories and he is particularly +popular among his people. He belongs to the new school of Armenian +writers. The scene of a good many of his stories, is the little village +where he was born. + + + + + CHAI + + +It was night; winter and snow. The night was so dark, so full of +terror that people in the little mountain village of O-- could not +remember when they last saw day and the sun; bright light and blue +sky. The wind blew, too! And what a wind it was. It was as if it came +from some world of the dead, because in its voice there was something +that made the nerves tremble and painted horror before the brain. It +played with the snow, and the play was the play of a demon. Not only +people shivered, but the entire mountain village, its poor little +houses, its hay stacks, and the dry mounds of manure piled up for +burning. And one could not tell whether the shivering was because of +the cold, or because of the accursed storm that was raging. For these +mountain village dwellers, thunder and lightning, storm and cold, were +not merely harmless caprices of nature. The peasants knew how sad the +result might be. Why should they not be afraid and tremble! But it was +lucky that the sign of the cross was sure protection against lightning; +and for the snow storm there was the stable and the _sakhi_.[1] + +_Woi_--_woi_--howled the storm. Every time its terrifying voice rang +out, the men in the _sakhi_ of Melikh-Shalim, who were lined up along +the wall facing each other, ceased speaking, took the pipes out of +their mouths and drew nearer together. + +_Lord God!_--snow and cold must come in their time, but this +storm--this fearful storm--for what can it be good? No one dared +interpret the voice of the great storm. For each one of them it was the +mighty song of destiny, which the storm-wind--the eternal wanderer--had +constructed out of the sorrows of the world, out of the sighs of the +helpless, and the tears of suffering. Thus thought the frightened +peasants in the _sakhi_. + +_Woi_--_Woi_--the wind grew stronger. The _sakhi_ creaked and trembled. +Sometimes it sounded as if someone were walking heavily across the roof. + +“Hell has broken loose!” declared one, in order to have something to +say. “I would not wish my worst enemy to be upon the mountain tonight!” + +“Upon the mountain!” answered another scornfully. “As if you had +courage enough to walk to the wine garden. And you talk of the +mountain! Heaven and earth are fighting each other tonight.” + +Again silence reigned in the _sakhi_. They were busy thinking. + +The door creaked ominously. All looked in that direction. In the dim +light, the form of a man, wrapped in a herdsman’s cape was visible. He +looked like a heap of snow. + +“Good evening,” said the newcomer, shaking the snow from his shoulders. + +“God is good to you, Chai. Come up--you must be frozen.” + +“Make room! Give him a place to sit.” + +“By heaven, I’m frozen”, he replied. “I couldn’t stay out another +minute. I thought the sky was cracking over my head. They are +frightened in the village, too. I said to myself, I’ll go to the +_sakhi_. I’ll warm myself, and then I’ll go out again.” + +He seated himself beside the wall. + +Above the _buchar_[2] in a blackened space, hung the oil lamp. The sad +flame trembled and wavered, as if it, too, were terrified by the voice +of the wind. But it gave sufficient light to show some of the faces +under the lamb’s fur caps. An occasional pale line of light fell upon +the new comer. It was a peasant’s face which hard work and suffering +had made harsh. He was a young man but he had the appearance of having +lived much. Under his short mustache were two thick lips so tightly +pressed together that they gave the impression of stubbornness. The +eyes were small, but full of fire. He was the village watchman. And he +was an Armenian. Many of his race had attempted to live in the mountain +village, but they had been driven away. Only this one had remained like +a deserted crane. He did not want to beg, so he became watchman. The +villagers did not know his name. Instead of Nacho they called him Mcho, +some even Mko, but at last they agreed upon the name of Chai. It was +an easy word to say. And he was really Chai[3] from the village Osm. + +The _sakhi_ was warm. The snow storm continued. The wind roared like a +wounded bull. + +“’Twas a night like this when that poor fellow was surprised--_yes_,” +declared Gewo, the magistrate. “How could he help it?” + +He spoke of a peasant who had perished in a snow storm on the mountain +a few days before. + +“How often have we said it--it is not wise to run about in the snow,” +observed another. + +“What nonsense you talk! He _had_ to go!” thundered Melikh. “Who can +escape fate?” + +“True, true, Melikh,” some agreed. “What is written by fate is written.” + +They agree that man is the toy of fate. Against this nothing prevailed. + +“I don’t believe in fate!” called a voice from the corner by the +_sakhi_. All eyes turned toward him. The surprise was universal. + +“Who is this brave man?” inquired Melikh scornfully. + +“I am your servant, Melikh. But I do not believe in fate,” repeated the +same voice doggedly. + +The men did not know whether to laugh or to be angry. The one who did +not believe in all powerful fate was the miserable Chai. + +“The meanest goat can lose his temper,” murmured Melikh, half in +scorn and half in wrath. The declaration of Chai had aroused them. +Melikh, the rich, powerful Melikh, believed in fate--and feared it. +The magistrate, Gewo, before whose decisions they trembled, like aspen +leaves, was afraid of it. And the head of the church--no matter what he +sermonized about--in the end reverted to the subject of fate. They were +all subject to this powerful influence. + +“_No--I don’t believe in your fate_,” repeated Chai, as he took notice +of the scornful looks directed toward him. “I could prove to you all +in a moment that I am right, if I did not have to go out and make the +round of the village again.” + +“Stay! Stay!” they called. + +“Magistrate tell him to stay.” + +At command of the magistrate Chai sat down again. + + * * * * * + +In that year there were ten of us--ten mad men. The Turks and Kurds +called us conspirators. The Armenians called us defenders and saviors. +We and the eagles became the lonely lords of the mountains. We were +alike, too, in the way we swept down upon our prey. How many dogs of +Turks and Kurds did we not kill! Sometimes they hunted us. Then we +disappeared and they could not find us. It was not easy to find us, and +when they did find us, it was not easy to meet us. + +One day we were on the summit of Mount Sim, when supplies gave out. +It fell to my lot to forage food. I knew where there were villages, +but whether the inhabitants were destroyed or alive I did not know. +In broad daylight I climbed down from our mountain nest, without a +weapon, without even a stick. For a time all went well and I met no +one. Before me rose another mountain. I must go over it and down into +the valley on the other side. I climbed and climbed. Just before I +reached the top, a Kurd jumped up, a _hornidie_,[4] well armed. + +“Good day,” I said carelessly. + +“Good day, Armenian,” the Kurd replied. He did not pass me, but stepped +in front of me. I continued my way, but I felt that the Kurd was still +standing there, and following me with his eyes. I did not hasten. I was +afraid of arousing suspicion. + +“Armenian--_wait!_ Wait!” suddenly called the voice of the Kurd. I +looked back, then stopped. It is fate, I thought. Fate might well take +the form of a Kurd. A gun rested upon his shoulder; there was a moon +shaped blade by his side, a dagger with an ivory handle stuck in his +girdle. I saw that his eyes were those of an angry wolf. He came nearer. + +“At this time, in this place, there should be no Armenians. Who are +you? Where are you going?” + +“Kurd,” I replied, “the time is bad, I know, but do not forget that +we are neighbors. I say to you as a neighbor that I am from Chnt. We +are starving there--that you know. I am on the way to Derdschan to get +bread for my children. Let me go in peace.” + +“You can’t deceive me, Armenian! You are a bad lot.” + +“You have a God, too, Kurd. You see I have no weapon. There is not even +a knife in my pocket. If I were a bad lot what could I accomplish with +just two hands? I beg you, let me go in peace!” + +“Walk in front of me. I’ll give you over to the law.” + +“To the law! You could not do anything worse when you know the police +are seeking us. Do not do that, Kurd! Even if I were set free, it +would delay me. My children are suffering. They are dying of hunger. +For God’s sake, Kurd,--brother, neighbor, let me go!” The Kurd was +unshakable. It is my fate, I thought and walked on. What could I do? He +was armed. I was not. + +Around us the world was beautiful. The sky was clear and blue, the +mountains green. Birds flew about; everywhere was life and happiness. +Above, high in the air, a crane flew, free and bold. Forgetting the +danger of my position, I looked up at the bird and envied it. + +The Kurd walked on in silence. He looked at me. Our eyes met, and for +some seconds we were both unable to look away. Each tried to find +out what was hidden in the thought of the other. Is not the eye the +involuntary betrayor of the mind? I understood that the Kurd had made +up his mind to kill me. That I read plainly. I began to meditate. I +sought for help. But what help was there for me? At this moment my eyes +rested upon the handsome dagger which the Kurd carried in his girdle. +If I only had that in my hand! + +“Go on,” commanded the Kurd. “Why are you stopping?” + +I walked on. We were going through a lonely, uninhabited valley. The +Kurd became restless, and began to look about. He kept taking the gun +from his shoulder and then putting it back again. I felt that my end +was near. I began to walk slower. I did not dare step in front of the +Kurd. That would make him angry. + +“Quick--_quick!_ Go on!” he urged. He was constantly trying to make me +walk in front of him. I made an effort to walk evenly with him. We both +seemed to understand that we were fighting a silent battle for life. +Suddenly I stopped. My sandal strings were untied. The Kurd came up +beside me and paused. Without lifting my head I observed his position. +He stood on my right, and the ivory handle of the dagger gleamed from +his girdle close beside me. + +“Make haste, Armenian!” he called angrily. + +I lifted my head quickly, snatched the dagger from his girdle, and +before he knew what had happened, I buried the entire blade in his +breast. He roared like an animal, then fell to the ground. I was saved. +And this is the dagger that saved me. + +Chai drew from his girdle a dagger with a handle of ivory, and held it +up for his listeners to see. They fell upon their knees and examined +the weapon carefully. The poor, shabby Chai had become a hero. He was a +brave man who ruled his own fate. He snapped his fingers at it. + +“I don’t believe in fate,” he declared again doggedly. This time his +words brought forth neither laughter nor scorn. Chai took his dagger, +stuck it in his girdle and went out. The others were silent. Outside +the wind howled, but it no longer terrified them with the implacability +of fate. Under the manifold wild voices of the night, they seemed to +hear human voices crying--“Revenge! Revenge!” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Sakhi, a windowless room, containing a fire place. + +[2] Buchar, an open fire place. + +[3] Chai, colloquial for Haj, meaning Armenian. + +[4] Hornidie--name of a Turkish regiment. + + + + + IN PRISON + + By AWETIS AHARONEAN + + + + + IN PRISON + + + + + Chapter I. + + +It was midnight. Oppressive silence reigned in the prison. Occasionally +one caught the sound of the heavy, even tread of the watchman. The +little round holes in the tower of cells looked very black against the +space about them. They looked like great eyes of the dead. + +In the room of the prison superintendent there was a light. There two +men sat opposite each other at a table upon which a piece of paper was +outspread. They were the superintendent and his helper. They pointed +with pencils to names of prisoners who in the morning would be brought +out to be sentenced. + +_Kli-r-r! Kli-rr-rr--_ + +“There it is again!” said the superintendent, throwing down his pencil. + +“What’s the trouble?” inquired his companion. + +“A new prisoner. With those confounded chains he disturbs me day and +night.” + +“Why does he make such a noise?” + +“Why? How should I know? All the time that dog of a giaour walks about +and gives me no rest. The devil take a business like mine! In all the +years I have been here I have never got used to it--that accursed +sound.” + +_Kli-r-r! Kli-rr-rr--_ + +This time the noise was louder. + +“I can’t stand that!” roared the superintendent. “I can’t stand that +sound any longer. Last night I never closed an eye because of it.” + +The helper began to laugh. + +“Why do you laugh?” + +“Why do I laugh? A boiled hen would laugh if you should say to it that +the wolf is afraid of the sheep. What’s the use of your anger and +discomfort? Silence him.” + +“Silence him! Easy enough to say.” + +“Tell him to go to sleep.” + +“But what if he doesn’t sleep?” + +“Make him sleep! There’s a way, isn’t there?” pointing to the rows of +knouts along the wall. The light of cruel impulses shone in his little +eyes. + +_Kli-r-r! Kli-rr-rr--_ Again the shuddering rattle of rusty iron. The +superintendent began to meditate. He bit his lips angrily and left the +room. He turned toward the cell from which the sound came, opened the +circular window and roared. + +“You dog of a giaour, stop rattling those chains! _Keep still!_” + +“I’m not doing anything,” came a voice from within. + +“Why do you make such a noise all the time?” + +“Why? The chains--they knock against each other.” + +“Then why do you move?” + +“What shall I do?” + +“Sleep! Sleep! If you don’t, I’ll--” The superintendent did not finish +the sentence. + +“Sleep--that’s easy to say,” thought the prisoner. “How can the +defender of man’s freedom sleep--if he is buried alive and has no hope?” + +The mind of the _haiduk_ was a volcano; the cell was narrow, the chains +heavy. The rattle of chains was the hideous song of autocracy, which +since the beginning of time has echoed from prison walls. + +The superintendent went away. The prisoner stood still for a moment, +pondered the words, then began to move about again. He tried to walk +softly along the wall, carefully, little step by little step. And the +chains rang and rang disturbing the night. + +“How long has the good-for-nothing been here?” inquired the helper. + +“Three days ago they caught him in Toprag-Gale. He must be a bad lot +who can not sleep. No one knows who he is nor whence he came.” + +“Will he ascend--it?” + +“What? You mean the gallows? Of course--if they sentence him!” + +They were silent. It was not a suitable subject for conversation. +Therefore they thought about it a good deal and said nothing. The +silence was broken by a sudden crash of the chains. + +“Just wait till daylight, you dog of a giaour!” murmured the +superintendent. “Wait!” + +The helper got up, said good night and went out. + +Daylight came and the hour when the prisoners are given their +breakfast. + +“Now you’ll keep still forever, Giaour,” murmured the superintendent, +who, with a dish full of food approached the cell of his noisy +prisoner. He opened the door and placed the food upon the floor. The +prisoner was sleeping. He went out stealthily. He closed the door +but did not go away. Something held him to the spot. He put his eye +to the keyhole and looked in. The prisoner was handsome. He had an +air of nobility. His broad brow was unclouded as if noble thoughts +moved behind it. The face indicated strength of character. There was +something about the sleeping figure that affected the superintendent +peculiarly. Fear awoke in his heart. He tried to suppress this feeling +which was new to him. Why did he stand there and watch him? Why did he +not go away? He did not know and he did not like to think about it. He +tried to reason with himself. + +He saw the prisoner get up and approach the food. He followed every +movement. His knees began to tremble. He leaned heavily against the +door. He wanted to turn away but he could not. His throat began to feel +dry. Why should he destroy that noble looking figure with the broad +brow and inspired eyes? He opened the door and called: + +“_Wait! Wait!_” + +The prisoner looked up at him in surprise. + +“Wait! I can’t do it. Rattle your chains all you want to.” + +He picked up the plate, ran from the room and closed the door. The +prisoner understood. A smile passed across his lips like the last, +faint glimmer of sunset. He rejoiced. Under the low roof of prison, +behind locked doors, he had conquered. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + +Weeks passed. + +_Kli-r-r! Kli-rr-rr--_ This time the chains were clanging through the +village of A----. Between rows of glittering bayonets appeared from +time to time, a white face. The prisoners were being led to the place +of execution. Even in daylight this clanging of chains was terrifying. +Doors were quickly shut, windows closed. This sound was the terror +of the land. It filled the streets, and made the hearts of the brave +tremble. A crowd had accumulated about the square. There were judges, +lawyers, court accountants. The superintendent was there too, and his +helper. + +“I did not do it. I am not to be blamed,” the superintendent kept +whispering to himself. The judge turned to the prisoner. + +“You are A---- from the village of A----?” + +“No; I am not from A----.” + +“K---- is your friend?” + +“I do not know him.” + +“Did you kill G----?” + +“Yes; he was my enemy.” + +“You procured weapons and took them to S----?” + +“No; I did not procure the weapons.” + +The helper of the superintendent, who until then had listened +indifferently, went up to the judge and whispered to him. Then, upon a +signal from the judge he walked up to the prisoner and stood directly +in front of him, and quite near. + +The place of execution became silent. Every one expected something +unusual and all eyes were turned toward the two men who stood face to +face. It was not two faces that confronted each other, but four eyes +... four flames. The spectators shivered as if from fear. Something was +going to happen, something out of the ordinary. Still they stared at +each other, eye against eye. Their eyes did not wink. Their lips did +not move. Their eyebrows did not twitch. No sound escaped their lips. +No word was spoken. They only looked and looked, and one was in chains, +but inspirited with righteous wrath. The other wore the uniform of a +Turkish official, and yet he trembled and seemed afraid. + +The prisoner stepped back. The chains rattled. He turned away with a +gesture of scorn that made the other feel shivers pass down his spine, +and he stuttered. + +“I--I--_know you_. You are A----” + +“Yes,” replied the other. “_You were my friend._” + +Friend! What a word to use here! The word took on form and towered like +a giant in front of the helper. He saw himself in all his baseness. +He was in terror at his own likeness. Ah!--how much blood he had shed +for these shining buttons on his uniform. Involuntarily he touched one +of the buttons. It was cold like ice. He drew his hand back quickly. +How many years had he feigned to be a friend to this hero who fought +for freedom, and how many just like him he had tricked and brought to +ruin. He touched his sword, then drew his hand back, and glanced at the +heavy chains of his old friend and former companion in the strife for +liberty. Which was better, the sword of the Turkish official or those +rusty chains of the martyr for freedom? This question which he thought +he had decided long ago, came up again. + + * * * * * + +It is night--a gloomy night. A restless wind roamed under the black +sky. The helper started for the prison. The superintendent had called +him. His walk did not have its usual animation. The darkness was not +pleasant, nor the wind either. He kept thinking of things he did not +wish to think of. How hard he had tried to hide himself that morning +when A---- climbed to the gallows. He did not succeed. The prisoner +seemed to search for him. He found him. He looked at him again just +as he had looked at him on the place of execution. Before he died +he wished to burn that look of scorn and contempt into his brain. +There--before him in the dark--were two burning points--_eyes_. He +could not go on. He stopped. They were the eyes of his friend. They +were just like them--just so large. Should he go on? He meditated a +moment and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the two eyes +were still looking at him again--only they were larger and there +was a different expression within them. He started to run. The eyes +disappeared. It was a cat which leaped ahead of him. He laughed at his +fear, but he walked faster than usual. + +At length he reached the prison yard. He looked timidly toward the +place of execution of the morning. He thought the man was buried and +all was over. But he saw the body gleaming through the darkness. And +when the wind touched it, the gallows moaned and moaned. And the wind +carried the sound on and on. The helper ran without looking up, but +as he neared the gallows his steps were heavier and heavier. The old +shuddering swept over his body. At last, trembling, he entered the room +of the overseer. It was light there. At least there was a human being +there. The superintendent did not look up; he was thoughtful and both +were silent. + +“Now you can sleep,” remarked the helper in order to break the +oppressive silence. “Now the chains do not rattle.” + +“Hark! Don’t you hear that?” Outside, above the sound of the wind, came +plainly the creaking of the gallows. It was a sad, monotonous sound, a +gigantic slumber song over the body of the heroic dead. + +“Why is he not buried?” + +“That is what I have called you for. To-morrow morning you are to take +him down and bury him--because you were his friend.” + +The helper was silent. What an ironic play of wit was this. Anyway he +will not make any noise, thought the helper. + +The superintendent dropped his head; his eyes were in the shadow. +Slowly the helper got upon his feet, took up the lamp and held it in +front of the trembling face of the overseer. The overseer threw back +his head in anger, grabbed the lamp from the hand of the helper, threw +it upon the floor and smashed it into pieces. + +“_You cowardly betrayer--he was your friend!_” + +The room was in darkness. In every corner shone a dozen gleaming eyes +that kept growing larger and larger. It was frightful; he wished to +get away. But he could not find the door. He circled vainly around and +around. At last he stumbled upon it. Carefully he opened it and stuck +his head out. It was no less terrifying outside; blackness and wind, +and the creaking gallows. Ah!--what a sound was that! It penetrated +the marrow of his bones and made him suffer. Up there the dead man was +shaking in the wind. Where should he go? He made up his mind to run +as fast as he could, but he had only taken a few steps when something +forced him to look up. There in front of him, in the darkness, were +two gleaming, swollen eyes, streaked with blood. His knees gave way. +Trembling he turned back toward the door of the overseer. + +“Cowardly betrayer!” murmured the overseer again. The helper turned and +ran again. But this time the wind blocked his way and he found himself +beneath the gallows. This time the dead man did not seem to be angry. +The eyes looked down at him sympathetically and the lips said: “Friend, +Friend.” + +He twisted and crawled along like a snake. Then with feverish haste he +put up the ladder, climbed it, and untied the rope. The corpse fell. +Quickly he twisted the same noose about his own neck and swung himself +up into the air. With the angry voice of the wind there mingled the +peculiar choking sound of a human voice--and then the sound came no +more. The two dead men looked at each other, one upon the ground, and +the other swinging high in the darkness and the wind. + + + + + THE ELOPEMENT + + By ALEXANDER PETÖFI + + + + + PETÖFI + + +Alexander Petöfi, the great lyric poet of the Magyar race, was born +the first day of January, 1823. His was a true poet’s life--brief +and stormy. Only twenty-six years were his in which to live and +purchase fame. Despite the fact that he took an active part in the +wars which were numerous during his brief day, and was active as an +editor and politician, he found time to write some of the finest lyric +verse of his race, and tales in prose, and to leave a considerable +correspondance with the distinguished men of the period. + +His best prose work is the novelette, _The Hangman’s Knot_. + + + + + THE ELOPEMENT + + +“But where shall we go?” + +“To Buda Pesth.” + +“To Pesth?” + +“Of course!” + +“Why there?” + +“It’s the safest place.” + +“Very well.” + +“Early--” + +“I’ll be ready--early.” + +“Use every precaution.” + +“Do not worry.” + +“On no account be late.” + +“No; of course not!” + +“Good by, Anna dear--!” + +Poor Andrew von Csornay! And at this moment in the club he is saying +“Checkmate,” with an air of triumph to his opponent, just as if he +himself had not just been checkmated in life, for Anna is his wife, and +Carl his nephew. + +A few days later they talked of nothing in the little village where +this happened, but the elopement of Madame Andrew with her nephew, Carl +von Csornay. + +“It served the old fool right! Why did he marry such a young and +beautiful girl?” + +“That’s too much for me! I can’t solve the problem. Probably because +they were so much in love with each other.” + +“True--I suppose.” + +“But I’m sorry for the old man. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the +grief killed him.” + +“Poor fellow!” + +“And the unfortunate scandal--” + +During the time conversation like this was common in the little +village, Carl and his beautiful young aunt, had met in Pesth. While +their carriage was on the way to the hotel, another carriage started +from there. + +“Oh!” screamed Madame Anna, in terror. + +“I hope he’ll lose his eyesight,” thought Carl von Csornay to himself, +throwing a hasty glance in the direction of the other carriage. They +both wrapped themselves up in their cloaks as well as they could. The +man who saw them was a merchant from their home town. + +“He did not recognize us,” declared Carl reassuringly, when they +entered their room in the hotel. “If he had, he would have spoken to +us.” + +“Thank heaven for that!” + +“Now you belong to me, Anna,--wholly--wholly! To me belong the +beautiful brown hair, the red, sweet lips, the glowing, black eyes, the +proud, swan-like neck--” + +“Yes--yes--I belong to you Carl!” + +And they were happy--for a little while. But the love of the senses is +an intoxication from which one awakens and when they awoke and came to +their senses, they both exclaimed: + +“In the name of goodness what are we going to live upon? We have no +money! We have nothing to eat.” + +They had not finished speaking, when some one knocked at the door and a +stranger entered. + +“Have I the honor to address M. Carl von Csornay?” + +Carl listened confused and frightened, because he felt that they had +been discovered. + +“You do not answer,” continued the stranger, “but your surprise proves +that you are the one I seek. I beg you to sign this little piece of +paper. Exactly one year from to-day I will come to see you again. Do +not forget--in just one year. Good by.” + +The mysterious stranger went away. It was difficult to say which was +greater, the surprise or the joy of the lovers. The paper which the +stranger gave him, was draft for a sum of money sufficiently large to +enable them to live in luxury for a year. According to the written +demand of the stranger, the money was paid to them promptly. + +“It is incomprehensible,” declared Madame Anna, looking at the money. + +“I should say it is incomprehensible,” agreed Carl. “Gold falls upon us +just like manna from Heaven.” + +Now they could live happily. They had no material cares to worry about. +And they thought now of course that the merchant did not recognize +them. If he had, would he not have told M. Andrew von Csornay? + +“And at the end of the year,” explained Carl, “the stranger will come +again, and we shall have more money. Is not that what he said?” + +“Yes, indeed.” + +Six months after the departure of Madame Anna with her nephew, a young +man appeared suddenly in the home of old M. Andrew von Csornay. His +face expressed suffering and a decision reached in a mood of despair. + +Old M. Andrew had just returned from his club, in a rather melancholy +frame of mind. He was either sad over the disappearance of his young +wife, or because the priest had beaten him again at chess. + +When the young man entered, the old man, white and trembling, sank back +in his chair. The young man seized his hand and implored: + +“Uncle--Dear Uncle--what shall I do to be forgiven? I am ready to do +anything!” + +“Where is she--the woman?” + +“She--_she_----is not here.” + +The old man drew a deep breath of relief. + +“I am going to tell you the whole story,” declared Carl. “You will see +then that you ought to pity me, and not take revenge upon me. I can’t +tell you how I have suffered. My happiness did not last long. I lived +in a veritable hell. Your wife has the face of an angel--but all the +devils there are, dwell in her heart. She is the worst tempered woman I +have ever known in my life. I could not stand it a day longer--I had to +run away and leave her--” + +“My poor nephew--I do pity you from the bottom of my heart. But you +ought to pity me; she only remained with you six months, while she +remained an entire year with me.” + +“You, too, Dear Uncle?” + +“You are surprised, I suppose, are you not? Every one thought we were +happy. But you should have seen us when we were alone! Then--you would +have learned a thing or two. When I think of her it makes me shudder. +When I found you had eloped with her, I blessed you. No one could have +done me a greater kindness. In order to reward you--as soon as the +merchant told me where you were--I sent you a yearly allowance,--so you +would have no inclination to come back, and no hinderance where money +was concerned--” + + + + + SAIDJAH + + By MULTATULI + + + + + MULTATULI + + +Multatuli, whose real name was Edward D. Dekker, was born in Amsterdam +in 1820. His father was a merchant. When he was eighteen years old his +father sent him to the Dutch East Indies to enter the service of the +colonial government. He was rapidly advanced to the highest government +position in the colonies. And in this position he was tireless in his +endeavor to improve the condition of the native population. + +Because of this desire he gave up at length his position, with all +its advantages of money and honor, and went back to Holland to tell +the people the true condition of the native population over whom +they ruled. He was dismissed from service without a pension, and for +years after this he lived in poverty. It was during this period of +deprivation that he wrote the novel, _Havelaar_. He tells us that he +was obliged to borrow money to buy the ink with which to write it. + +Other books followed this in quick succession, among them the drama, _A +School for Princes_, which is still popular in Holland. + +In 1870 he went to live in Wiesbaden; from Wiesbaden he moved to a +village on the Rhine where he died in February, 1887. + + + + + SAIDJAH + + +Saidjah was about fifteen years old when his father ran away to +Buitenzorg. He did not accompany him because he had plans of his own +to carry out. He had heard that in Batavia there were rich gentlemen +who would employ slender youths like him, if they were nimble footed, +to sit on the rear seat of the two wheeled carriages. He had been told +that he could earn money in this way. In two years he could earn enough +money to buy two water buffaloes. This prospect pleased him. He walked +along proudly like a person who carries something important in his +head. He was on his way to see Adinda to tell her his plan. + +“When I come back,” he explained, “we shall be old enough to marry--and +then we shall have two buffaloes to do the plowing.” + +“Good, Saidjah, I will be your wife when you come back. I will spin. I +will weave and embroider _sarongs_.” + +“I believe you, Adinda. And when I come back, I will call you a long +way off--” + +“Who could hear if we happened to be pounding rice in the village?” + +“That is true. Then wait for me by the Djati Forest, under the +_ketapan_ tree, where you gave me the _melatti_ flower.” + +“But, Saidjah, when can I know when you are coming? When shall I go to +the tree?” + +Saidjah thought a moment and replied. + +“Count the moons. During three times twelve moons I will remain away. +But this moon now does not count. See, Adinda,--cut a notch in the +rice-block for each moon. When you have cut three times twelve notches, +I will return. On that day wait for me under the _ketapan_ tree.” + +“I will be there by the Djati Forest, waiting for you under the +_ketapan_ tree.” + +Saidjah tore a piece of cloth from his blue head-dress, and gave it +to Adinda. Then he said good by to her and to Badur. He went through +Rangas-Betung, which was not yet a place of importance, and on to +Warong-Gunang, where the assistant governor lived. The next day he saw +Pandeglang, the village that looks as if it lay in a garden. A day +later he reached Serang, and stood astonished at the splendor and the +number of the houses. He remained here one day because he was tired, +but when the sun set, he went on again and at length reached Tangerang. +Here he took a bath in the river and rested in the house of a friend of +his father. + +As soon as it was dark he took out the _melatti_ flower which Adinda +gave him and looked at it. Then he was sad because he had not seen her +for so long. The farther he traveled from Badur, the more he began to +think that the thirty six moons represented a very long time. It was +not so easy for him to go ahead. He felt weary and without ambition. + +Saidjah arrived in Batavia. He sought a rich gentleman who hired him at +once, when he found he could not understand what he said. In Batavia +they prefer servants who do not understand Malay, and are not spoiled +by contact with Europeans. Saidjah soon learned Malay, but he kept it +to himself, because he thought only of Adinda and the two buffaloes. He +grew tall and strong because he had something to eat every day, which +did not happen in Badur. His master promoted him to the position of a +house servant and increased his pay. But at the end of three years they +said he was ungrateful, because he gave up his position. But he did not +care what they said, his heart was glad because he was getting ready +to go back. He counted over and over the treasures which he was going +to carry home. In a hollow, bamboo stick he had his passport and the +testimonial of his master. In a case swung over his shoulder by a piece +of leather, was something heavy that beat against his back. Within this +case were thirty Spanish dollars, with which he intended to buy three +buffaloes. What would Adinda say to that! And that was not all. In his +girdle shone a Malay _kris_ with a sheathe of silver. The handle was of +carved wood which he had wrapped carefully in silk. In the folds of his +outer garment was a leathern girdle with silver links, and a clasp of +gold. This was for Adinda. Around his neck in a little silk purse, he +carried the dried _melatti_ flower. + +He did not pause to visit any of the cities along his route. It seemed +to him that he could hear the voice of Adinda calling him. This music +made him deaf to everything else. + +At length, in the distance, he saw a great black spot. That must be the +Djati Forest, which was near the tree where Adinda was going to wait +for him. He groped in the darkness and felt the trunks of many trees. +Soon he stumbled upon a piece of level ground that seemed familiar--the +south side of a tree. He put his fingers in a gash in the side of the +tree which he remembered had been cut to drive away an evil spirit that +had hidden there and given some people of the village toothache. + +This was the _ketapan_ tree which he was seeking. He sat down in front +of the tree and looked up at the stars. And when he saw a falling star +he understood it as a greeting to him on his return to Badur. Then he +wondered if Adinda were sleeping now, and if she had counted the moons +correctly on the old rice-block. Would it not be a pity if she had cut +one too many, or one too few? Thirty-six moons there should be! He +wondered if she had woven beautiful _sarongs_. And he wondered too who +was living in the old home of his father. Then he recalled his youth, +and his mother, and the buffalo that had saved him from being torn to +pieces by the tiger. + +Very carefully he watched the setting of the stars in the west, as they +disappeared along the horizon line, and estimated the time before light +would begin to come from the East, and how much time would elapse +before he met Adinda. She, of course, would come with the very first +ray of light. Why in the world could she not have come the day before? +He was sad that she had not got ahead of this beautiful hour, which had +fed his soul with delight for three long years. + +His complaints were foolish. The sun had not yet risen. Not yet had the +sun sent its long rays across the levels. To be sure, over his head, +the stars were now growing paler, one by one, as if ashamed that their +domination must end so soon. Strange, wild colors fluttered over the +lonely mountain tops, which seemed blacker afterward. Something that +shone, floated now and then, across the clouds banked in the east; +arrows of gold--flame--but they fell back again into the darkness that +hid the day from the eyes of Saidjah. + +Gradually it became lighter. He could see the landscape. He could hear +sound of the leaves from the Klappa forest behind Badur. + +And yet how could she sleep? Did she not know that Saidjah was waiting +for her? Probably the village watchman had just knocked at her door, +and asked her why the night lamp was burning. Or perhaps she sat all +night in the darkness on her rice-block, counting with her fingers the +thirty six marks for the moons. Perhaps like him she was waiting for +the rising of the sun. + +He did not wish to go to Badur. He seated himself at the foot of the +_ketapan_ tree, and looked out over the levels. Nature smiled back at +him and welcomed him. But his eyes kept turning toward the narrow path +that led from Badur to the _ketapan_ tree, along which Adinda would +come. But there was no one to be seen upon the path. He waited a long +time, and looked and looked, and still there was no one upon the path. +She probably watched all night and then fell asleep at dawn, he thought +to console himself. Should he get up and go to Badur? She might be +ill--or dead. + +He got up and ran along the path to the village. He heard nothing. He +saw nothing. Yet voices called and called--“Saidjah! Saidjah!” The +women of Badur came out of their houses and looked at him. Their faces +were sad. They recognized Saidjah and knew he had come to see Adinda, +and that she was not there. The head of the district of Parang-Kudjang +had taken away the buffaloes of Adinda’s father. Her mother died of +grief. Adinda’s father feared punishment because he could not pay +the land-rent, and he had fled. He took Adinda with him. But because +Saidjah’s father had been whipped in Buitenzorg for running away, he +did not dare go there, but to the district of Lebak, which borders the +sea. There they had taken ship. But Saidjah was so grieved he did not +understand what they said to him. + +He left Badur and went to Tjilang Kahan where he bought a boat. After +a few days sail he reached the Campong coast, where there was an +uprising against the rule of the Dutch. He joined a troop of soldiers +less to fight than to search for Adinda. One day when there was a +general massacre of natives who had been subdued by the army of the +Netherlands, he wandered through a little village that had been set +on fire. As he was walking around some houses that had not been yet +completely burned, he came upon the dead body of Adinda’s father. There +was a bayonet wound in his breast. A short distance away lay Adinda, +naked and dead. A little rag of blue cloth was pressed in the bayonet +wound in her breast. Saidjah met a soldier who was using his bayonet to +drive the few surviving insurgents into the burning houses. With all +his strength he rushed forward, and drove the soldier back, while the +point of the bayonet pierced his lungs. + +In Batavia there was rejoicing over the victory that had brought +fresh laurels to Dutch arms in the East Indies. The Governor wrote to +the home country that there was peace again in Campong. The soldiers +were rewarded with crosses of heroes. In the churches prayers of +thanksgiving were said because the Lord of Hosts had again fought upon +the side of the Dutch. + + + + + ABISAG + + By JAROSLAV VRCHLICKÝ + + + VRCHLICKÝ + +Jaroslav Vrchlický, whose real name is Emil Frida, is a significant +personality in modern Bohemian literature. + +He was born in 1853. He studied at various secondary schools and +later attended the University of Prague. Here he devoted himself +almost exclusively to theology and philosophy, and then--thanks to the +generosity of Count Montecuccoli-Laderchi--traveled for a time in Italy. + +In 1893 he was made Professor of Modern Literature in the University of +Prague, of which he became one of the most distinguished figures. + +His fertility as a writer is so unusual that it can not be passed over +in silence. He has published many books of lyric verse, dramatic verse, +stories in prose, and translations from many languages, including the +work of English and American writers. He has given his countrymen +versions of Schiller, Dante, Ariosto, Victor Hugo, Leopardi, and +Provençal and Spanish poets. + +The story _Abisag_, which we give, is from the collection of prose +tales entitled _Bits of Colored Glass_. Vrchlický died in 1912. + + + + + ABISAG + + +King David lay upon a royal couch of cypress wood. From the ceiling +swung huge receptacles carved of bronze, from which the smoke of +burning perfumes rose, and whose dim, wavering light, showed carven +cedarn walls and a ceiling starred with plaques of gold. + +The night was warm and windless. From the city from time to time one +could hear the measured tread of watchmen, and the clang of swords; +from the vineyards that swept about Jerusalem like a girdle of green, +came the voices of men who guarded the wine. The moon, resembling a +warrior’s shield of gold, reflected itself in the mirror of the flat +roofs and flung fleeting, ghostly shadows about the twelve great gates +of the city. The light fell upon the city wall, the purification pool, +gardens filled with bee hives, long alleys of sycamore trees, of palm +and fig trees. It fell upon tethered camels becoming restless at +approach of day. It saw its golden surface in deep cisterns. It shone +upon graves in which the bones of ancestors rested under the curse or +the blessing of the sons of Israel. Night swept across the world of +space like a prodigious face across the mind of the dreaming prophet. + +The king lay like one dead upon his bed. Motionless, four men sat +opposite him, their misshapen knotty hands rested upon the carven +lions’ heads that formed the arms of their chairs. Their faces were +so still it was as if they were made of stone and only the trembling +flames in the bronze receptacles swept over them the unreal motion of +shadows. + +The first wore the dress of a priest of Israel. His beard was parted +and combed and reached to his waist. His name was Sadok. The second +wore the insignia of the head of the army. His name was Banahash. +The other two were courtiers, Semej and Rej. Their richly oiled +hair smelled of sandal wood and hyacinth. They had torn the costly +garments that covered their breasts. Grief dwelled in their hearts and +lessened the quick pulsing of blood in their veins. Their attitude +was expectant. It was evident that they were waiting for something +important. Their eyes rested upon the bed where David lay wrapped in +the lion’s skin. His face was like a mask. It was the face of the dead. +The body of the king was beginning to grow cold. + +“Nathan does not come,” remarked Sadok. + +No one answered. + +Banahash drew his brows together ominously. Semej and Rej sighed. + +Again there was silence, heavy and prophetic. + +“Does Bethsheba know what Nathan said?” inquired Semej in a whisper. + +“Yes, she knows,” replied Sadok. + +“And has she agreed to it?” asked Rej. + +“She had to agree. Does not God speak through the mouth of Nathan? It +is her fault that she does not perform the last service for David the +King.” + +“She is old. She is burdened with years and illness,” objected Semej. + +“Hush! The King moves,” whispered Banahash. + +“No--it was just a rustling noise in the outer hall. Slaves are +bringing the warming pans, and the coals.” + +Seven negroes in short, red tunics entered. They bore bronze pans +filled with glowing coals, which shone like the sweet star, Sahil, when +it first pierces the mist of evening and looks down upon a sleeping +world. They placed two pans at the foot of the king, two at the head, +and one on either side. They sprinkled myrrh and powdered incense upon +the coals, and disappeared as softly as phantoms. The seven glowing +pans lighted the dim room and sent up a blueish smoke that filled the +air with fragrance. The pale face of the king looked paler. The four +men who sat and watched him sank lower their heads upon their breasts. + +To the warmth of the summer night was added the heat of the steaming +pans. Beads of sweat stood out upon the brows of the watching men, and +dotted like pearls their long, black beards. + + * * * * * + +The door opened. A man of giant body stood upon the threshold. His hair +and beard were unkempt. They knew neither oil nor comb. His caftan was +girdled with a rope. His knotty, muscular feet were covered with dust. +His naked breast was weather stained and looked like the trunk of a +gnarled fig tree. White, bushy brows shaded his eyes which glowed like +the coals in the warming pans. + +“Nathan!” cried the watchmen by the bed. They arose and greeted him +with gestures of submission. The expressions upon their faces changed. +The face of Sadok showed curiosity held in check by fear; the face of +Banahash, the calm of expectation, and satisfied desire; the faces of +Semej and Rej, mistrust coupled with fear of the prophet. + +Nathan looked about the room, and came nearer. + +“How is the Anointed of the Lord?” he asked quickly. + +“As he was when you left so is he now. Did you bring the Sunnamite +maiden?” + +“She is here; her father, too,” replied Nathan, beckoning toward the +anteroom. + +A man entered. His head was bowed. He had little twinkling eyes, a red +beard, and dirty hands. It was Lamek of the tribe of Issaher. A slender +maiden enveloped in a veil followed him. Even her face was covered, +only the shadow of her eyes could be seen. + +Lamek bowed low as to his knees. At this moment he was so small he +resembled a dwarf. This impression was strengthened by the saffron +yellow caftan and red hair. The maiden towered like a young palm beside +him. + +“Banahash,” directed Sadok, “take the maiden to the bath of the king +that she may be fit for the bed of the king.” + +Banahash opened a little door that shone like gold, which was entrance +to the place of the bath. The room was walled with jasper. In the +center was the bath, hewn round from a single block of black marble. +From the center of the ceiling two sea serpents, in which huge rubies +shone for eyes, spouted rose water. + +Banahash took the hand of the maiden and led her to the door, where +he gave her over to the care of four slave women. Two held jars of +precious ointment, two mirrors of ebony, and coverings made of purple +wool. + +Sadok returned to Lamek who had not yet lifted his head. But his sharp, +sly eyes kept circling the room, so that not the slightest motion of +the faces of those present escaped him. Nathan, the prophet, stood +by the bed of David the King. He held his hands extended as one who +implores a blessing. His lips trembled with prophetic words. + +“Is this your daughter, Lamek?” asked Sadok. + +“Yes; but she is handsomer than I--or her dead mother.” + +“Are you willing to do what Nathan, the man of God, has told you?” + +“If it is the will of God--and the people of Israel may be saved.” + +“Did she agree?” + +“She does not know. But my daughter is obedient. My will is hers.” + +“Is there one who loves her?” + +“Yes--and no! My daughter is beautiful. And yet she really has no +lover, because he does not know how beautiful she is. My eyes watch her +as if she were a nugget of gold, or a drop of water in the desert.” + +“Who is her lover?” + +“A youth--an insignificant youth. He owns nor field nor vineyard. +He owns no camels, nor is he the chief of a caravan. He owns +nothing--_nothing_--It is my wish to obtain money enough to buy a +vineyard near Sunnam--to leave to my children--that I may not die +childless.” + +“Does--this lover--know what is to happen?” + +“Yes--He is calm. He only said to my daughter, ‘I will stand by the +outer door of the palace until the end. I will await you there, to lead +you back to the vineyard which your father will buy for us. If you +remain as you are now, you will come without my calling you. If you do +not come until the sun has set, I shall go away and I shall never look +upon your face again’.” + +Sadok did not answer. He went into a room in the rear of the sleeping +room, where a massive chest stood. He beckoned to Lamek to come nearer. +The Hebrew’s eyes greedily took in the contents of the chest. He saw +bars upon bars of red gold, cups of beaten silver, rings, armlets, +pearls the size of pigeon’s eggs. He saw gems as varied in color as the +flowers of the fields in spring. Sadok buried his hands in the chest, +drew out bar after glittering bar, and piled one upon another upon the +floor. He piled up rings covered with gems. Lamek filled his arms, +while his eyes shone fiercer than the metal. + +Sadok wished to close the cover. But the Hebrew stood there and +would not let him. He kept saying: “_For so little I will not sell my +daughter!_” Sadok bent down and gave Lamek another cup, this time of +silver and starred with rubies, and two armlets. On each armlet was the +head of Anubis carved of a single onyx. Lamek was satisfied now and +drew back. + +The door of the bath opened and two slave women came in leading Abisag. +She was robed in white, transparent muslin. About wrists and ankles +were jewels. Gold dust sparkled upon her long, black hair, like stars +in a dark night. + +Sadok signalled the slaves to leave. The Sunnamite maiden stood alone +and trembling in the midst of the grey, old men. Her eyes were fastened +upon the marble floor. Her arms were folded upon her breast, which rose +and fell with the agitation that swayed her. + +Sadok drew his brows together sharply. Banahash understood the sign, +approached the bed of the king and drew back the lions’ skins that +covered it. Sadok lifted the muslin robe from the shoulders of the +maiden. + +Her hair, in which the gold dust sparkled, covered her like a cloak. +Her cheeks were the color of the pomegranate. Nathan took her by the +hand and led her to the bed of the king, while Banahash, the son of +Johad, lifted up the lions’ skins. + +The maiden embraced the cold body of the king as a daughter would +embrace a dying father. Sadok spread upon them a woolen coverlet and +motioned to the others. They left the room. Nathan, alone, remained, +kneeling by the bed of David, the King, uplifting his hands in prayer. + +The old men did not know that when they led Abisag to the bed of the +king, a young man wearing a white robe appeared in the doorway. He went +away again as quickly as he came. But he had seen the beauty of the +Sunnamite maiden. This young man was Solomon. + + * * * * * + +From that moment peace vanished from the heart of Solomon. He was even +indifferent that Adonias, the son of Hagith, whom friends had chosen +king, was reveling day and night in the streets of Jerusalem, with his +followers. He did not know that his mother, Bethsheba, stood white and +trembling, her heart filled with bitterness and envy, behind a door of +King David’s chamber, to watch the influence of Abisag upon the life of +the King. He paid no heed to the opinions of the unstable courtiers and +royal sycophants, nor to what the cunning Sadok and secretive Nathan +had in mind. Weary in body and dispirited, he betook himself to his +pleasure palace in Baalhamon. Here he shut himself in, and throughout +the night wandered along its garden ways, where century old sycamores +looked down upon him, listening the while to the cicadas of the nights +of summer, sing and sing. + +Once when he was about to lie down upon his couch to rest, a slave +announced the unexpected arrival of Banahash. + +Solomon did not care to see him. + +The son of Johad did not await permission, he rushed into the room +declaring breathlessly: + +“Good news! The king lives. The king spoke.” + +Solomon arose from his couch as if he expected some more definite +communication. + +“You must go back with me to the palace. It is a question of the +anointing of a king.” + +Solomon fell back weakly against the heaped up rugs upon his bed. + +“I go not there again.” + +“But it is the will of the king, and Bethsheba, your mother. Nathan +awaits us by the river. In his hand is the holy oil for anointing. +Adonias fled to the mountains.” + +“I go not,” repeated Solomon. + +“The nation awaits you. The judges are on your side. The warriors are +calling your name through the streets of Jerusalem. And all this you +owe to the Sunnamite maiden.” + +“Abisag,” repeated Solomon slowly. “Am I pledged to give thanks to +Abisag?” + +“For everything,” answered Banahash. “She awoke the king. Otherwise he +would never again have spoken.” + +“Very well. On--on! I go,” said Solomon. + + * * * * * + +Seldom has a king at his anointing shown such indifference as Solomon. +They did with him as they wished. They led him hither and thither. +After being proclaimed king, he would gladly have gone back to +Baalhamon. But David again lay as one dead, wordless, motionless, +between the pans of glowing coals, wrapped in the yellow lion’s skin. +Nathan, the prophet, thought the end was near. Abisag still visited the +king, but her efforts were useless. + +When Solomon entered the room of his father, David, the King, it was +evening. Banahash, alone, was with him. Solomon sat down beside him and +seemed like one in a dream. He wished to see Abisag when she came to +the king. Hours passed. Banahash bent over the king and arranged the +coverings. A shudder seized him. David’s heart did not beat. He thought +he must be mistaken. He took a mirror of bronze and held it to the +mouth of the king. The shimmering surface remained smooth and bright. +David was dead! + +Banahash tore his garments, ran to Solomon, fell down in front of him, +and touched his forehead to the floor. + +“What is it, Banahash?” questioned Solomon, still in his dream. + +“You are king! David is no more. I hasten to announce to the priests.” + +“Wait!” commanded Solomon. “I forbid you to take a step.” + +Then his voice changed and became gentle and pleading. + +“Do you love me, Banahash?” + +“I would give my life to you,” replied the courtier. + +“It is your duty to watch by the King’s bed until morning. Very easily +you can delay the announcement of the death of the King.” + +Solomon bent and whispered in the ear of Banahash. + +“Will you do it, Banahash?” + +“I will, my King, if you will tell me what it was your father demanded +against Joab, and Semej, whom they call the magician.” + +“I will tell you--later.” + +“No: now I must know it!” insisted Banahash. + +“Later I will tell you. I swear it by the body of David, the King!” + +“I go--to announce to Bethsheba, and the priests--” + +“Listen, then, and hear!” + +Again he bent to the ear of the still kneeling Banahash and whispered +the last will of David, the King. + +“You know what Joab did to me. You will proceed against him as is just. +Semej, too, you hold in your power, who cursed me with a grievous +curse. In my wrath I swore against him: I will not slay you with the +sword! But you--pardon him not. You can make him descend early into the +grave.” + +“I will warn my companions,” Banahash thought quickly. + +“I will do whatever seems good to me,” thought Solomon. + +Just as upon the evenings before, the Sunnamite, Abisag, ascended the +couch of David, the King. She did not notice that the light was dimmed +in the hanging receptacles of bronze, and that the great room grew dark +and darker. She did not notice that the pans of coals had been carried +away, nor that a great mass of lion’s skins and purple coverings had +been heaped upon the couch of David. She lay down and fell asleep. + +At first her dream was monotonous like the desert. But this desert +was not one of heat. Cold winds blew over it. The desert stretched +to the horizon; it was dark and deep, like a great room at night. No +bird swept across it. Abisag dreamed that she stood alone upon this +monotonous grey-yellow expanse, lost in a sea of twilight, and that +invisible hands placed weights upon her feet. Across the desert blew +cold winds such as are known in the East, and Abisag thought that the +stones were such as mark the way of tombs. She was afraid. She wished +to cry for help. Then the waste trembled, and the twilight began to +lighten. Strips of azure streaked the sky. Grass sprang up upon the +sand. Cranes flew overhead. Abisag had closed her eyes, but her eyelids +were made of mother of pearl and she saw through them. Where the desert +horizon joined the sky something roared and swayed. It was a forest +of cedar trees a century old. The sunlight lay upon their fabulously +lovely summits, and the wind wafted their fragrance abroad. As by magic +the forest drew nearer and nearer. She heard fountains leap beneath it. +Narcissus blossoms rose to greet her, and their circle of leaves was +like human eyes. Flowering vines embraced her body. In the crown of the +great cedar above her head, a bird of gold nested, and when it spread +its wings scarlet blossoms fell about her. And the song of the bird was +a song of power and mystery. “_Set me like a seal upon thine heart. +Strong as death is love, and desire is implacable as the grave--._” + +Day touched her eyelids. She awoke. Beside her lay not the dead, +grey King, but a man of youth and beauty, robed in white. He slept. +Terrified, Abisag leaped from the couch, and stole away from the room. +Outside, upon the streets of Jerusalem, where a great crowd swayed, and +waving palm leaves were carried on high, voices called: + +“_Long live Solomon, King of Israel!_” + +Banahash and Nathan had announced the death of David, the King, because +the sun had risen and day had come. + + * * * * * + +The Sunnamite maiden did not leave the royal palace. Some days later +when she stepped from her bath, her slave women told her that Adonias, +the son of Hagith, had been slain by Banahash at command of Solomon, +and that his dead body lay before the palace door. + +Abisag went down the palace steps and out upon the terrace. She saw +the dead body. She wept. She fell upon it and covered it with kisses. +While Abisag wept beside the body of Adonias, Solomon, amid the clang +of trumpets, music of zithers and bells, was welcoming the Queen of +Sheba. She came with a great retinue of camels, elephants, negroes and +jesters, to learn of the wisdom and splendor of Solomon. + +That same day were Joab, and Semej the magician, put to death, just as +Solomon had promised David, the King. + + + + + THE KING’S CLOTHES + + By KOLOMAN MIKSZÁTH + + + + + MIKSZÁTH + + +A volume of short stories by Koloman Mikszáth--one of the most original +and talented writers of modern Hungary--was published a few years ago +in English. The story we give in translation--“The King’s Clothes,” +was printed some fifteen years ago, and we think it was this Hungarian +story teller’s first appearance in print in the United States. + +This story illustrates well his peculiar talent and his ironical, +witty, satirical manner. Two novels by him--most unusual in both +subject and treatment, are _The Magic Cloak_ and _The Village That Had +No Men_ (Szelistye). + + + + + THE KING’S CLOTHES[5] + + +Chroniclers are sometimes mistaken. They tell us the story of King +Morus but they forget to state over what land he ruled. Yet this +does not have anything to do with the subject, because who believes +believes. I will relate it truthfully. + +One afternoon King Morus escaped from the duties of kingship, which +means that he signed some seventy documents, which the Minister read +to him in a sing-song voice. His Majesty closed his eyes and was kind +enough to listen to the unavoidable documents from end to end. There +were some appointments to make, a few death sentences, and other +similar trifles. He yawned only occasionally at the reading. “We have +finished,” declared at length the Minister, putting the huge book of +papers under his arm and sticking the seal of the realm in his pocket. + +“Wait a moment, Narciz,” commanded the King. “Give me that little piece +of iron from your pocket, and stamp it upon one of these empty death +sentences, then hand it over and I will sign it.” + +“An empty death sentence, Your Majesty?” questioned the Minister +astonished. + +“I’d like to know if you have anything against it? Perhaps it may occur +to you that you are my constitutional Minister and it is your business +to know what the seal is to be put upon. Narciz you are becoming +childish.” + +“O Your Majesty!--Your Majesty--what can you be thinking of? I am the +humble servant of the best of kings.” + +King Morus graciously patted old Narciz on the shoulders, then took the +paper and placed it in the inner pocket of his coat of gold. + +“Now, Old Man, I have the genuine, constitutional feeling within me. By +Heaven, I have it, and I don’t mind telling you--_in confidence_--what +I am about to do with this death sentence.” + +“Most glorious King!” murmured Narciz. + +“I am trying to win the favor of a very beautiful lady--and she asked +me for this trifle. You see of course I couldn’t refuse her a little +thing like this.” + +“Your Majesty is too gracious!” + +“I am wise, Narciz! The pity is the poor woman has no power, but she +has a husband. I give her the power and she gets rid of the husband. +_Sh--sh--Narciz_--Not a word to any one--” + +“It is sweeter to kiss than to kill,” flattered Narciz. + +“Right you are, Old Man! I am going to carry this little piece of +paper to her now, because the favor of the King is a fruitful seed. +Write that sentence down in the Golden Book of the realm. Have you +already written down what I said yesterday about the reckoning of the +ground-rent?” + +“Certainly, Your Majesty.” + +“Let me hear how it sounds.” + +The Minister opened the Golden Book and read the last lines: “A good +king is like a gardener who trims the trees often.” + +“Very well said,” opined the king, putting on his fez. He walked to the +private garden by the shore of the sacred Nile, the garden which no one +was permitted to enter. + +The servants and courtiers whom he met on the way bowed to the ground +as he passed. “We greet you, great King Morus.” + +His glowing, golden garments dazzled all eyes, and beneath his proud +step the earth trembled. The nightingale in the garden sang of love, as +if it divined the King’s thoughts. The white lilies bowed their heads. +The roses strewed fragrant leaves across his path, and the azaleas +whispered a name--not the name of the king--but instead the name +Florilla, the enchanting woman who was step-daughter of Narciz. Within +the palace all were wondering where the King was going. The Minister +whispered to his son: “He is carrying someone’s head in his pocket.” + +Rogus, frightened, felt for his own head. He found it just where it +always was, upon his neck, between his two shoulders. + +He spoke at once to the watchman who stood by the garden gate: + +“Here is a purse of gold. Exchange clothes with me, and let me into the +garden.” + +The watchman refused. “I can not. The King would cut my head off when +he returns.” + +“You are an ass,” replied Rogus. “The King can not kill you until he +comes back. I will kill you upon the instant if you do not obey me. So +you can see you can win both time and money.” + +The watchman agreed. Rogus, who had long suspected something, put on +the watchman’s clothes and followed the King. Before him, too, the +lilies bent their heads. The roses strewed fragrant leaves, and the +azaleas whispered the name, Florilla. But Rogus stepped upon them and +crushed them. A secret gate, to which King Morus had the key, led from +the garden to the shore of the Nile, along which were pleasure palaces. +Among these palaces stood the villa of Rogus, which the King had built +just the summer before and presented to his faithful servant. Likewise, +just a year before, the Minister had written in the Golden Book, that +the favor of the King was a fruitful seed. + +Rogus kept following the King, an easy thing now, because the King had +forgotten to lock the garden gate. + +Profound quiet reigned by the river, even the voice of the ripples was +subdued. The twilight was beginning to color the Nile steel blue so +that it resembled the curving blade of an executioner’s giant sword. + +When the King reached the dwelling of Rogus, he blew three times on a +silver whistle. At this sign a young woman appeared upon the balcony. I +only say this about her, that the artists of that day could not find a +finer head to preserve for posterity. + +“Florilla,” whispered the King. + +Rogus hid behind some shrubbery and listened. To be sure he knew all +about it, because he had suspected it long. + +“Yes, my King,” replied Florilla. + +“May I be permitted to enter the Kingdom of Heaven?” + +“Why ask? A King commands.” + +“I have left your husband busy at court, so he can not surprise us. +Perhaps, too, the end has come for him. Here is the death sentence.” + +“With the seal of the Minister?” + +“Of course.” + +“A shabby trick in my father,” thought Rogus. + +“Bring it up to me in an hour,” whispered Florilla. “Within the hour I +will put all my serving women to sleep.” + +An hour was a long time for a King who was in love to wait. The evening +was hot. An odor of heat arose from the earth. There was no breeze +and the Nile was smooth as a mirror. A conceited bee swam boldly upon +a rose leaf, without fear of shipwreck. The King looked long at the +enticing water, until a desire arose in him. And what a King desires-- +He seated himself beside some shrubbery near Rogus and took off the +yellow shoes with the golden spurs. He laid aside his purple cloak and +the gold colored vest with the diamond buttons. He took the silver +whistle from his neck, and then took off all his costly royal clothes, +and placed them upon the soft grass. The mighty ruler looked about. +No one was to be seen. Who indeed would dare to intrude upon this +forbidden shore of the sacred Nile! + +The mirroring water alone was shameless enough to look at him and +reflect him. Morus jumped into the water which kissed flatteringly +his heated body. He enjoyed himself greatly. The trees covered with +trailing vines built a fragrant sheltering wall and he walked upon +shining pebbles which tickled his feet. + +When he had bathed long enough and the hour of the love tryst drew +near, he came out of the water and hastened to the place where he had +left his clothes. But evidently he had mistaken the piece of shrubbery +and hastened to the next one. He went back. There was no trace of the +royal garments. He walked--his teeth chattering--from bush to bush. He +ran up and down the shore, looking behind all the bushes. + +“Where are my clothes? Who has stolen them? It could not have been a +man. Do you hear, Earth? If you have swallowed them, I will tear up all +the trees and grass in my realm.” + +He threw himself upon the ground and began to sob. Then he jumped up +and began to revile the moon. + +“Shine better, you miserable old night-light! If you don’t I’ll smash +your temple.” + +But the moon did not seem to hear. The moon acted like a timid girl and +hid behind a veil of cloud. It began to rain. The dirt and water from +the trees disfigured his face. In despair he determined to return to +the palace and procure fresh clothes. The great disgrace of being seen +by the watchmen was unavoidable, but he knew how to get even. He would +have their heads chopped off. He would make it impossible for them to +laugh about it. + +He hastened to the secret gate. The gate was locked. Then he remembered +he had left the key in it. There was nothing to do but to walk along +the shore to the south gate, and from there through many streets to +the palace. What ridiculous songs they would write about him--his +subjects, when they saw him like this. But fortunately no one saw him. +The streets through which he went were empty. There was only a beggar +sleeping by the door of a temple. The King awoke him. “Give me that +sack that covers you,” he commanded. The frightened beggar struck at +him with his cane. + +“Get out! If you don’t I’ll knock you down.” + +The King saw that he was the weaker and hurried on. A pack of hungry +dogs began to follow him howling. The watchman was sleeping at the gate +when someone slapped him on the back. + +“Oh! Oh! Who are you? What do you want?” + +“Let me in--and give me your cloak.” + +The watchman thought it was a joke. He made up a face and then laughed. + +“Is that all you want? I’m sorry the imbecile asylum is so far away.” + +“I command you to obey,” repeated the King in wrath. + +“Get out!” pointing his spear at the ridiculous figure, with tousled +hair and bleeding feet. + +“Don’t you know me?” + +“No.” + +“I am the King.” + +“Or a fool. Get out! You are lucky that I am not too sleepy to give you +a good beating in the name of the King.” + +King Morus then began to speak gently. He recalled that this was the +way to get on with underlings. + +“Listen--my noble Hero! To-night I bathed in the Nile. Some one stole +my clothes. I swear to you that I am King Morus.” + +“You fool,” declared the soldier. + +Crawling along the wall, weak and dejected, he made his way to the +palace of his adored one. He decided to knock and ask for clothes. +He also made up his mind to reduce the entire city to ashes--just as +soon--_just as soon_--as he procured clothes. + +Clothes? Is this all there is to a King? Then he saw the beggar. The +old good-for-nothing was up and awake and waiting for the wine shops to +be opened. + +“Give me that covering of yours,” said the King. The beggar threw him a +look of scorn. + +“You don’t feel quite so high and mighty, do you? Where did you pawn +your clothes? It’s a shame the way the wine merchants carry on. If I +were the King I’d hang them all.” + +“That’s just what I’ll do,” whispered Morus--“if you’ll only give me +your covering.” + +“You’d like to trick me, would you, you rascal?” + +“I’m the king.” + +The beggar looked amazed. + +“Haven’t you seen my face on the gold pieces?” + +“I? I never had any gold pieces!” giving the king his covering. + +Now he could go boldly to the castle of Rogus. Despite the early hour, +there was a crowd waiting at the gate. They were whispering. The King +recognized his servile courtiers. They avoided him. They did not want +his dirty covering to touch their fine clothes. The King struck the +door with his fist. + +“Open! I command in the name of the King!” + +The watchman by the door laughed. “Poor fool!” Morus began to implore. +“Don’t you recognize me? My well beloved subjects, look at me! I am +your ruler.” + +Laughter was his answer. + +“Kabul, you to whom last week I gave a fortune, why are you silent? And +you--Niles--whom I lifted from poverty, can you deny me?” + +Neither Kabul nor Niles knew the King. + +“Ungrateful men!” he raged. “Where is the mistress? Where is Florilla? +She will recognize me.” + +At this moment the herald of the King came out. Upon his lifted spear +he bore a head--the head of Florilla. + +She could recognize him no more. She was silent forever. The golden +hair fluttered about the beautiful head, and covered part of the long +spear. The people shouted with joy. The King sorrowfully demanded who +had done this. No one answered, but he soon found out. The herald read +a proclamation, then nailed it to the door, so that all could see that +it had the seal of the Minister. King Morus pressed his hands to his +temples and murmured: “Perhaps I am not king Morus.” + +The crowd increased. Knights and ladies came to see the beautiful head, +which from now on could cause neither envy nor love. The beggar came, +too. The only one who spoke to the King was the beggar who gave him the +covering. + +“Get out of here! The great lords will beat you and take away the +covering I gave you.” The beggar took him by the hand and led him away. +He felt limp and weak and had no will of his own. + +On the great square his eyes again brightened. He saw Narciz. The +Minister was hurrying to the royal presence, a package under his arm. +He ran after him. He fell upon his neck. + +“Narciz! Narciz! You dear old man! Lucky for me to find you!” + +The Minister, in anger, freed himself. + +“What sort of shameless creature are you?” + +“Don’t you recognize me? I am the King.” + +“Of course not!” replied the Minister, laughing. “You resemble him a +little, if you were not so hoarse.” He tapped him gently on the back +with the gold headed cane which the King had given him on his fiftieth +birthday. + +In the merriest mood the Minister entered the royal dwelling. Servants +ran ahead to open doors for him, until he came to the room of the royal +presence--where the King--Rogus--awaited him. + +Rogus told the story to him; how he had overheard the conversation +between Florilla and the King, how he had put on the King’s clothes, +and written Florilla’s name upon the empty death sentence. What +happened after this chroniclers relate, to be sure, but I am not going +to repeat it to you, because I do not believe the ending of the affair +myself. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[5] I published this story some fifteen years ago in a magazine devoted +to translations. It was, I believe, the first appearance by Mikszáth in +English.--E. W. Underwood. + + + + + WHEN THE BRIGHT NIGHTS WERE + + By PETRI ROSEGGER + + + + + ROSEGGER + + +Petri Kettenfeier Rosegger (born in 1843 Alpel, Steiermark) is a +popular and prolific writer of Austria. His father and mother were both +charcoal burners in the great forest which he has pictured so often, +and his youthful surroundings were most meager. His mother was a woman +of talent; she was one of nature’s poets and from her came his mental +ability. At seventeen he was apprenticed to a tailor, and in the few +years that followed, he worked in sixty-seven different families. + +In this way he learned the life of the peasants of his country and at +the same time sketched the idea of _Waldheimat_ (Forest Home), his +first important work--which has now become a classic--and from which +this story is taken. + +Later Dr. Svoboda, editor of a paper in Graz, heard of him, and with +the aid and coöperation of friends, helped him to an education. His +descriptions of the wooded country where he was born, and of peasant +life in the Alps, are among the finest in the language. + + + + + WHEN THE BRIGHT NIGHTS WERE + + +The summer had been hot. The moss in the forest was faded and dry, +and between the sparse blades of grass one could see the grey ground. +Beside the piles of dried pine needles on the floor of the forest, lay +dead ants and beetles. The stones in the bed of the river were dry and +white as ivory. Fish and frogs were dying in the little round pools +that were occasionally visible between the stones. + +The air was heavy, and the mountains--even the near ones--were blue. +When the sun arose it was as red as the autumn leaf of a beech tree, +then, later, pallid and dull, so that one could look straight at it. It +crawled lifelessly across the grey desert of the sky; the people began +to hope for rain, but a little breeze sprang up, and when morning came, +the clouds had disappeared and even the dew was not to be seen. + +Down in the village they appointed a day of prayer for rain. From all +the forest the people came in crowds. Only old Markus and I remained +at home in the empty house, and the old servant said to me; “If fine +weather comes, it will rain--so of what use is the day of prayer? If +the Lord God made us and put us here, he hasn’t the foolish head to +forget us. And if he hasn’t any head at all but just made the world +with his hands and feet, then he hasn’t any ears, has he? So what’s +the use of all this howling in the village! Don’t you agree with me +yourself, Boy?” + +What all do not people say! Old Markus breaks his head thinking over +things he knows nothing about, is what they say. + +Just then a shepherd from the Riegelberg jumped into the door. He was +so excited he could hardly speak. He pointed through the window with +both forefingers, toward the crest of the Filnbaum Forest. The old +servant followed the direction and clasped his hands in fear. There, +behind the summit, whirled upward a circling column of red smoke, which +spread out and blackened the sky. + +“That may be very serious,” declared Markus. He seized an axe and +hurried away. The smoke rose thicker and thicker, and spread out faster +and faster. I began to cry. Old Markus paid no attention to me; he had +other work to do. + +On the sunny slopes of the Filnbaum Forest it had begun, where there +was a space overgrown with withered briars and bushes. Near the growth +of dry larch trees the fire began, no one knows how. First it skipped +along lightly from twig to twig, then upward from great bough to bough, +with wide fluttering wings. Soon the conflagration unchained its +wild powers, and set floating its red, victorious banners. Here the +forest becomes thicker and loftier; long braids of moss swing from the +branches, and the great trees which were wounded by a hail storm some +years ago, are bare and resinous to the summit. With what relish the +fiery tongues lick these great trunks, and then flare up into space! +And down upon the ground a brood of little red serpents begin to crawl +in all directions, and to develop a hideous life. The few wood choppers +run around and around in confusion, and come and cry for help. But the +great forest and all its huts are empty. + +The people have gone to the village to pray for rain. When, hours +later, they start to return, the great forest is in flames. There is a +feverish trembling in the air, a cracking and rattling; twigs break, +trunks crash down and send up a multitude of sparks, and waves of +smoke. Fresh breaths of burning air float over the woodland; the flames +give birth to a storm-wind which they ride. + +Men worked and worked; some, half burned, had to be carried out. +The servant, Markus, saw the heart-breaking result, but he did not +complain nor was he discouraged, he worked quietly and persistently. +His clothing began to catch fire. He ran down to the river bed and +rolled in the sand until it clung to and covered his rough clothing. +Now he owned a coat of mail. He hewed off branches; he cut down trees, +but that did not help. The glowing river rolled on; dead trees, bare +branches waited eagerly for the devouring flame, and burned at the +first breath. + +Now the workmen tried to get ahead of the fire by cutting down great +spaces of trees, and thus by making a clearing, set a limit to its +power. Then the conflagration divided itself and spread out resplendent +arms in other directions. When evening came the wind rose; it tore into +shreds the gorgeous and triumphant flame-banners, and scattered the +fragments’ over the forest land. There was a monotonous and uncanny +moaning in the heavens, and a marvelous, unnatural light flung far and +wide over all the darkly wooded country. + +Exhausted and helpless, the workmen rested; the women carried their +belongings out of their cottages without knowing what to do with them. + +In the deep valleys there was peace and quiet. There one heard only the +whispering of the tall pine trees. But the night sky was rose-colored, +and occasionally a fire-dragon sped overhead. Sometimes twittering +birds came, and homeless animals. The deer came up to the dwellings of +men. + +“Our fate will be that of the deer,” complained the old women. “There +is no hope of saving the forest now. It will all be burned! Oh! Holy +Savior--this is the Last Judgment.” + +For days the conflagration lasted. + +From our house--high among the woodlands--we could look down upon the +trees of the Filnbaum Forest, and watch the flames climb up. The land +was covered with a sad veil, and smoke choked us. Above, in the sky, +hung a huge, tragic, red wheel which the smoke whirled about but could +not destroy. That was the sun. We watched the flames draw nearer and +nearer to us. They swept over the heights, down into the valleys, and +at length climbed the hillside toward our house. We needed no burning +pine cones in the evenings, we had light enough, because ten minutes +walk from our door the beautiful forest was flaming. Long ago we had +driven the cattle to the Alm Meadow and carried the furniture out into +the field. People came running by who were half mad. Old Martin kept +his senses better than the rest, although his hut was burned, he picked +cranberries at midnight by the light of the flames. My father went upon +the roof of our cottage, carrying a pole on the end of which was a rag +which was wet. With this he put out the falling sparks. On the fifth +night, when we were sleeping in a corner of our empty rooms, we were +awakened by a great roaring. Old Markus, who was keeping watch upon the +roof, called to us. “_That’s good! That’s good!_” + +A storm had arisen and now it was raging over the burning woodland, +with a power that was splendid and terrifying. It roared and thundered +like a cataract turned loose among the trees. The fire was turned away +from our direction, and that was what caused the words of old Markus. +The flames were in wild flight. They leaped over entire stretches of +forest and set fire to fresh woodlands far away. + +“It is over! We are saved!” exclaimed the helpless people in surprise. +Some, indeed, when the smoke cleared away and they saw the bald +mountain sides, regained their normal mind and said: “Surely there is +going to be a great festival for the mountains have shaved themselves.” + +When the storm was over, the rain came. For days the rain fell and the +heavy clouds hung low. At last the fire was extinguished. Over the +forest spread a frosty fog, for fall had come. + +The burning of the forests was so huge a thing that it could be painted +only by a powerful imagination. Such an imagination is not mine, +therefore there was nothing left for me to do but to sketch it roughly +with the worn pencil of memory. + +After the cold mists of autumn came the snow. That winter from our +windows we saw more white spaces than black. When spring came, then +we realized what the great fire had done. Every where black ground, +rust hued stones, roots that looked like coals, and tall, black trunks +towering over all. + +Workmen came. They plowed the blackened soil. They sowed grain. The +early fall brought splendor. No one in all our forest land had ever +seen such a magnificent harvest as covered the mountain sides. I recall +what the village pastor said: “The Lord God strikes wounds, but he +sends the balsam that heals. Praised be His name!” + +From the Filnbaum Forest to our very door were fields, and for thirty +years the burned woodland gave our people bread. Since then our people +are scattered; they have moved away, and a fresh, new, forest is +beginning to grow upon the mountain sides. + + + + + THE POINT OF VIEW + + By ALEXANDER L. KIELLAND + + + + + KIELLAND + + +Alexander L. Kielland is the Norwegian writer of whom it has been said +that he has given to his northern tongue the flexibility and the grace +of the French tongue. He is _par excellence_ a writer of the short +story and is renowned for the skill of his technique. + +One volume of his stories has been published in America. The story we +give--_The Point of View_, is new, however, to American readers. + + + + + THE POINT OF VIEW + + +In front of the garden gate of the villa of Lawyer Abel a small, +elegant trap drew up, to which two handsome, well groomed horses were +attached. + +Upon the harness was neither silver nor any shining metal; it was dull +black, and even the buckles were covered with leather. The shining +wood of the trap showed just a trace of dark green in its color. The +upholstery was a dark and modest grey, and only when one examined it +closely, did one discover that it was made of heavy silk. The coachman +was as correct as an English coachman; all in black, the coat tightly +buttoned, showing a space of white at the neck. + +Mrs. Warden, who sat alone in the trap, bent forward and placed her +hand upon the ivory handle. Slowly she got out, her long gown trailing +behind her, and carefully closed the door of the trap. + +Mrs. Warden walked through the little garden, and entered. She looked +through the open door into the adjoining room, and saw the lady of the +house standing beside a table littered with bright colored cloth, and +with several copies of “The Bazaar.” + +“Ah--you have come just in time--dear Emilie!” declared Mrs. Abel. “I +am in despair about my seamstress. She can not design anything new, so +here I sit turning the leaves of “The Bazaar.” Take off your wraps and +help me. I am trying to design a street dress.” + +“I am not capable of helping you when it is a question of dress,” +replied Mrs. Warden. + +Mrs. Abel stared at her in astonishment. There was something unusual +in the tone of voice, and she had great respect for the opinion of her +wealthy friend. + +“Don’t you remember that I told you that just a little while ago Mr. +Warden insisted upon my buying a new silk gown?” + +“Yes--yes--of Madame Labiche. Of course I remember,” interrupted Mrs. +Abel. “And now I suppose you are on the way to purchase it. Take me +with you! That will be pleasant.” + +“I am not going to see Madame Labiche,” replied Mrs. Warden with solemn +dignity. + +“For goodness sake, why not?” questioned her friend, opening her pretty +brown eyes with astonishment. + +“Well--I will tell you,” replied Mrs. Warden. “I am convinced that we +can not spend so much money and keep a good conscience--when we know +how much poverty there is in this city in which we live. There are +hundreds of families who are suffering--the direst need!” + +“Yes--but--,” objected Mrs. Abel, casting a deprecating glance toward +the table. “It is so everywhere. There can not help but be inequality--” + +“We must be careful not to increase the inequality. We must do +everything in our power to lessen it,” insisted Mrs. Warden. Mrs. Abel +felt that her friend gave a glance of disapproval at the table covered +with cloth, where the copies of “The Bazaar” lay. + +“It is only alpaca,” she ventured timidly. + +“Don’t think, dear Caroline, that I reproach you. Things of this kind +depend wholly upon the individual. Every one must act as he thinks he +is answerable to his own conscience.” + +The conversation continued in this manner, and Mrs. Warden explained +that she was now on her way to visit one of the poorest quarters of the +city, in order to see conditions with her own eyes, and to convince +herself of the way in which the poor really live. + +A few days before, she had read the yearly statement of a private +institution for the poor, of whose board of managers her husband +was a member. She had purposely avoided asking the police, or the +Superintendent of the Poor, for statements, because it was her +intention to see for herself, and to form her own opinion. The good-by +of the friends was a little cooler than usual. Both were in serious +mood. Mrs. Abel remained in the garden room. She did not feel inclined +to proceed further with the design for the street dress, although the +material was unusually attractive. She heard the sound of the wagon +wheels upon the level roadway of the residence quarter as it rolled +away. + +“What a good heart Emilie has!” she sighed. + +Nothing was further from this young woman’s disposition than envy and +ill will, and yet it was with a feeling akin to this that to-day she +watched the trap drive away. Whether it was the good heart or the +elegant trap it would be hard to say. + +The coachman had taken his orders without a change of expression. +He drove farther and farther along the strange streets of the poor +quarter, just as if he were going to a court ball. + +At last he received command to stop, and it was high time. The streets +became narrower and narrower, it was almost as if the well fed horses +and the elegant trap would be caught like a stopper in the neck of a +bottle. + +The correct coachman gave no sign of anxiety although the situation was +really becoming acute. An impudent voice called from a garret window +and advised him to kill the horses because they would never get out +alive. + +Mrs. Warden climbed down and turned into a still narrower street. She +had made up her mind to see the worst. In a door stood a half grown +girl. “Do poor people live in this house?” + +The girl laughed and answered something then darted ahead of her +through the door. Mrs. Warden did not catch the words, but she had the +feeling that she said something insulting. + +She entered the first room she came to. The air was so thick it made +her dizzy, and she was glad to find a place to sit down by the stove. +In the gesture with which the woman swept the clothing from the seat +to the floor, and in the smile with which she greeted the elegant +lady, there was something that offended her. She received likewise the +impression that the woman had seen better days, although her manner +was rather bold than gentle, and the smile certainly was not pleasant. +The long train of the pale, grey street dress floated out over the +dirty floor, and when she seated herself she could not help remembering +a witticism of Heine’s: “You look like a bon-bon that has been lying in +the sun.” + +The conversation began and progressed as is the custom with such +conversations. If each of these women had kept to the usual tone of her +conversation, neither would have understood a word of what the other +said. + +But since the poor know the rich so much better than the rich know the +poor, they hit upon a form of speech, which experience had taught, and +which is so far successful that the rich are at once put in mood to +give. Better than this they can not know each other. + +This speech the poor woman understood to perfection, and soon Mrs. +Warden began to comprehend their miserable life. She had two children, +one a boy of four or five who lay on the floor, and a baby. + +Mrs. Warden looked attentively at the little colorless creatures and +could not believe that the baby was thirteen months old. She had a baby +at home of seven months who was twice as large. + +“You ought to feed the baby something strengthening,” she said. Then +she said something that floated through her head about prepared foods. +At the words “_something strengthening_,” an unkempt head rose from the +straw bed. It was the pale, hollow-eyed face of a man, with a cloth +tied tightly about his forehead. + +Mrs. Warden was afraid. “Your husband?” she inquired. + +“Yes,” was the reply. “He did not go back to work to-day because he had +the toothache.” + +Mrs. Warden had had toothache. She knew how painful it was. She at once +said something sympathetic. The man murmured something and fell back +upon the straw. At this moment Mrs. Warden discovered another person +whom she had not seen before--a young girl, who sat in the opposite +corner by the stove. She stared at the elegant lady a moment, and then +turned her back upon her. Mrs. Warden thought the young girl had some +sort of work in her lap which she wished to conceal. Perhaps it was an +old dress which she was trying to mend. + +“Why does the boy lie there on the floor?” she inquired. + +“He is lame,” answered the mother. Now followed a pitiful tale and a +description of what had happened after the scarlet fever. + +“You should buy him a wheeled chair,” Mrs. Warden was on the point of +remarking, when it occurred to her it would be better for her to buy +it. It is not wise to give poor people money, she remembered. But she +would give the poor woman something, of course. She felt in her pocket +for her purse. It was not there. She must have left it in the trap. +Just as she was about to explain to the poor woman what had happened, a +well dressed man opened the door and entered. His face was round and of +a peculiar dry pallor. + +“Mrs. Warden, I believe,” said the stranger. “I saw your trap up here +in the street, and I suppose this is your pocket book which I am +bringing you.” + +It belonged to her. Upon the smooth ivory was E.W. engraved in black. + +“Just as I turned the corner, I saw it in the hands of a girl--one of +the worst in the quarter. I am Superintendent of the Poor for this +district.” + +Mrs. Warden thanked him. When she turned toward the occupants of the +room again, she was terrified at the change that had taken place. The +man was sitting up in bed and staring at the stranger. The woman’s face +wore a hateful expression, and the lame child on the floor, propped up +upon its arms, bristled like a wild animal. In all the eyes lay the +same hate, the same warlike defiance. + +“What a sight you are to-day, Martin!” declared the stranger. “I +thought to myself that you were one of them last night. I was right you +see. They’ll come after you this afternoon. You’ll get at least two +months in prison.” + +Then the deluge descended upon them. The man and woman shrieked at +each other. The girl came from behind the stove and joined them. No +one could distinguish words they were so busy with hands and eyes. It +seemed as if the little stuffy room must explode with the pressure of +unchained passions. + +Mrs. Warden turned pale and arose. The stranger opened the door and +they went out. In the corridor she heard the frightful laughter of the +woman. And the woman who laughed like that was the same woman who had +spoken so gently and pitifully of the sick children. Almost unwillingly +she followed the man who had brought about this amazing change. At +first she listened to him with a proud indifferent air. Gradually, +however, her attitude changed, there was so much truth in his words. He +was glad to meet a woman like Mrs. Warden who had heart for the poor +who suffered. Although--usually--the best intentioned help fell in the +wrong place. Good heartedness was something praiseworthy anyway. + +“But does not this family need help? I received the impression that the +woman had seen better days. Perhaps she could be helped out of this +life.” + +“I am sorry to tell you, Madam, that she has been a very bad--public +character.” + +Mrs. Warden trembled. + +She had spoken with a woman like that!--_about children_. + +“And the young girl?” she asked timidly. + +“Did you not look at her Madam, and observe her condition?” + +“No--you mean--?” + +The Superintendent of the Poor murmured a few words. Mrs. Warden +shuddered “--and that man? _The man of the house!_” + +“Yes, Madam. I am sorry to tell you this,” and he whispered again. + +This was too much for the elegant lady. She became faint and dizzy. +They were walking toward her trap, which was somewhat farther on than +the place where she had left it. + +The correct coachman had played a trick upon the street urchins. After +he had sat for a time as straight and impassive as a taper of wax, he +guided the fat horses, step by step, to a wider place in the street +which could not have been noticed by any one except the trained eye of +the correct coachman. A crowd of ragged gamins surrounded him and tried +to frighten the fat horses, but the spirit of the correct coachman had +become their spirit. + +After he had sat there calmly for a while, he saw a little irregular +space, made by two opposing stair-ways. Slowly he guided the horses +here and made a turn, so sharp, so crisp, that it seemed as if the +frail trap must be crushed between the masonry, but so accurately, that +scarcely an inch intervened on either side. Now he was sitting again +as straight as a taper of wax. But he was treasuring in his mind the +number of the policeman, who had seen him make the turn, so he could +have some one to refer to when he told the incident at home in the +stable. + +The Superintendent helped Mrs. Warden into the trap. She begged him to +call the next day. + +“Lawyer Abel,” she called to the coachman, and the carriage rolled on. +The farther she went from the poor quarter, the smoother and swifter +the carriage moved. When they entered the residence section, the fat +horses lifted their heads gladly to breathe the good air, that came +across the gardens. And the correct coachman, without any visible +reason cracked his whip three times. + +How could one expect that such degenerate people could ever rise +to any height of intelligence! What condition must exist in their +miserable conscience--how could they be expected to withstand the +temptations of life! She herself knew what temptation was. Did she not +have to fight against one all the time--against wealth! She shuddered +to think what these beasts of men, and these wretched women would +do, if wealth were suddenly given to them. Wealth was no slight test +of character. Just day before yesterday her husband had led her into +temptation. He insisted upon hiring an English groom. And she had +resisted the temptation and replied: + +“No--it is not right. I will have no groom upon the box. Perhaps we +are rich enough, but we must guard against pride. I can get out and in +without help, thank God.” + +Mrs. Abel, who was clearing the table of the cloth and the copies of +“The Bazaar,” was glad to see her. + +“You are back so soon, Emilie? I have just told the seamstress to go. +What you said to me took away all desire for the new dress,” declared +kind, little Mrs. Abel. + +“Every one must follow his own conscience,” answered Mrs. Warden gently. + +Mrs. Abel looked up. She had not expected this answer. + +“Let me tell you what I have experienced,” continued Mrs. Warden. She +repeated what the Superintendent of the Poor had told her. When she +had finished describing the condition of the young girl, Mrs. Abel +became so ill, the maid had to bring her a glass of port wine. When +the costly, cut crystal decanter and glasses were brought in, Mrs. Abel +whispered to her. + +“What--all in one bed? You can’t mean it!” exclaimed Mrs. Abel clasping +her hands tragically. + +“I would not have believed it an hour ago,” replied Mrs. Warden. + +“How lucky you were to get safely out of the place, Emilie!” + +“Yes--and when we consider,” continued Mrs. Warden, “that not even +the heathen--who have nothing--not even an excuse to keep them from +wrong--nor any conscience--” + +“This surely speaks loudly for all who listen to the teachings of the +church,” interrupted Mrs. Abel sympathetically. + +“Yes--God knows that--who does it,” replied Mrs. Warden, looking +straight ahead, a smile upon her lips. The two friends separated after +embracing each other warmly. + +Mrs. Warden took hold of the ivory handle and stepped into the trap, +the long, grey, train floating behind her. She closed the trap door +carefully, without making any noise. + +“To Madame Labiche!” she directed. She looked toward Mrs. Abel and +said: “Now, Heaven be praised, I can order that silk dress with a clear +conscience.” + +“Yes, indeed, you can!” was the answer. + +Then she hastened into the house. + + + + + MY TRAVELING COMPANION + + By PIETARI PÄIVÄRINTA + + + + + PÄIVÄRINTA + + +Päivärinta--who belongs to the new school of Finnish writers--although +he was born much earlier--is the prose poet of the peasant and one of +his strongest equipments for this aesthetic role which he was to play +so well, is the greatness of his heart--a sort of tragic pity--which +is found in everything he writes. He sees with his heart and nothing +escapes this seeing. Sometimes it lifts him to just such dramatic +heights as the “Homeric laughter” of Gógol, which, by the way, too, was +full of tears. It is an x-ray vision that lays bare the soul. He lived +the life of a peasant, so he knows at first hand the things of which he +writes. He left the plowshare after he was forty to picture the humble +companions among whom he had spent his days. Like Burns, he did manual +labor with one hand while he held a book in the other. The date of his +birth--1827--seems long ago for him to be of that new school of story +tellers of Finnland, among whom are Frosterus, Pakkala, Raijonen, Aho. +His parents were poor, day laborers. He was brought up to work, and +to the observance of stern discipline. There were a number of other +children. Pietari was the eldest. The parents fell ill, and he was +obliged to go out begging as a child in order to procure bread enough +for the others. When he was scarcely out of his teens he married a poor +peasant girl and bought himself a little piece of forest land. Unable +to make a living by farming he traveled from parish to parish and sang; +he had a voice of great beauty and power which won him his first fame. +At length he settled down as clerk of a parish. Later he represented +his peasant community in the Finnish Parliament. His first book was +_Episodes of the Great War_, and it was published with success the year +he wrote it. This was followed by others among which was an account of +his own life. The subjects were always the same, pictures of peasant +life. Päivärinta is a Joseph Israel of the pen. + + + + + MY TRAVELING COMPANION + + +It was the last of March. The weather was fair and here and there one +could see signs of approaching Spring. Birds were beginning to twitter +in the branches. Sleighing, if not completely broken up, was bad; the +roads were rough and muddy, and in several places the bare ground +showed through. Brooks and rivers were filled with floating snow and +ice and dirt, and only the sharp freezing at night kept them from +overflowing their banks. In favored places many a little brook had +burst through to freedom and was joyfully leaping down the declivities, +and rushing noisily away to the breast of its mother--the ancient sea. + +Such was the season and condition of traveling, when business forced me +to take a journey outside my own parish. + +Early that morning I came across a man, who like myself was forced to +travel on business. He had one emaciated old horse and a heavy sleigh; +indeed he went on foot and pushed the sleigh. When I overtook him I +jumped out and trudged along beside him. + +“Good morning, old man,” I began, as I reached his side. + +“Good morning,” was the reply, without looking in my direction. + +I had now opportunity to observe my companion at close range. His +horse was really little more than a skeleton, and the load was two +barrels of tar. In the sleigh I saw reeds and swamp-grass, evidently +the horse’s food, and very likely for the same purpose was a sack +filled with straw, which was placed on top of the tar barrels and stuck +out over the front. In addition, in the sleigh, there was a small +birch-bark basket which probably held food for the man. He wore an old +and ragged coat, which was held tight at the hips by a worn leather +strap. The coat had no buttons, and it was not provided with any means +of fastening at the top. The strap about his hips had no effect upon +holding the old coat together at the neck, so the man’s chest was bare. + +His shoes were likewise old and they had been mended time and again. +Now they were torn and wisps of straw which he had used to try to stuff +the holes, stuck through. On his hands he wore tattered, often mended +mittens, and on his head an ancient sheep skin cap. + +As I said, the old man was trudging along behind the sleigh. He did not +seem to have planned upon riding, because the two barrels of tar and +the food for the old mare filled it completely. + +When he came to a place in the road where the snow was gone, the old +man pushed the sleigh with all his strength, in attempt to help the +feeble horse. Holes in the road, and furrows cut by sleighs, were +filled with water, and this ice water went in through the holes in the +old man’s shoes. + +“Where are you going?” I inquired, in order to begin a conversation, +after making the above observations. + +“To the city!” was the curt and melancholy reply. + +“You have chosen a bad time for your journey, because now sleighing is +uncertain.” + +He answered: “True; the road is bad but I couldn’t wait for a better +one.” + +“What could force you to make the journey now when it is so difficult +to get along?” + +“Threat of execution for debt. That doesn’t wait for weather,” said +the old man sadly, looking up at me for the first time, with shy, +grief-shadowed eyes. + +This was my first glimpse of his face. It was wrinkled, and eaten out +by misfortune, and made old before years had done so. Both his body and +his manner indicated fewer years than his face. + +“Who is such a cruel creditor as to drive you to the city in weather +like this?” + +“The parson!” said the old man sharply. + +“The parson? You owe him so much then?” I inquired in astonishment. + +“Only last year’s interest.” + +“Only last year’s interest? Haven’t you been to him and asked him to +wait?” + +“Yes--several times.” + +“Well, what does he say?” + +“He was very angry and exclaimed: You’re stealing from me--you +vagabond. He didn’t have any pity when I begged him with tears in my +eyes.” + +“I must say that you have a hard hearted parson. It wouldn’t hurt him +to wait a little--anyway until the roads are dry,” I explained in ill +temper, without knowing why I was so agitated. + +“That’s just what I think--that he could wait. But I’m so ignorant I +don’t suppose I know anything about such things--of course the pastor +knows better than I do. He has great responsibility for all our souls, +and I suppose that’s why he has to look after his interest. He’s a good +preacher--though--does everything just right. Of course, I don’t like +to blame the pastor--but I wouldn’t steal however much good it would +do me. Some say the pastor is _tight_ and thinks only of his share. +But how could he carry such great responsibility--looking after our +souls--if he didn’t get all that was coming to him?” observed the old +man innocently. + +This simplicity threw light upon the old man’s nature. Surely he +had been tried severely by the hardships of life--far more than the +pastor--about whose material welfare he was so concerned. All his life +he had struggled with want, with suffering--with the bitter climate +of our Finnland. And still he felt it his duty to give to others what +was coming to them, no matter whether or not he had anything to live +upon. The only thing that grieved him was his inability to meet his +obligations punctually. + +“I don’t think it was right for the pastor to call me a thief. I +wouldn’t steal--but still I can’t pay,” continued the old man. + +This utterance came from a heart that was honest--if worn out in the +struggle. + +“If I can haul these two barrels of tar to the city I can pay +the pastor--and then there’ll be no danger of the execution,” he +went on. He seemed to become more confidential. I was interested +to know something more about the life of the old man, and observed +indifferently: + +“That mare of yours is pretty thin. How can you expect her to haul +those two barrels of tar to the city?” + +“Yes, true it is. The mare is lean. But how could the poor creature be +fat, when fed upon swamp-grass and water?” confessed the old man. + +“But the creature ought to be provided for first,” I suggested. + +“So anyone would say, who observed from a distance and did not know. +But when the cold has killed everything, you’d take what little you +could get and put into the pot, to keep the family from starving. +There’s very little difference between what we get to eat and the old +mare. I guess you’d find the old mare fares just as well as we do,” the +old man explained, looking up in surprise at my way of judging. + +“At least you should have had these boots of yours mended. Your feet +are wet.” + +“Anyone would say so--who didn’t know. But if you had six hungry, naked +children, and a wife, you wouldn’t have time to think about mending +shoes. Besides, these shoes have been mended and mended--and now they +can’t be mended any more. Of course I’d like to wear respectable +clothes--but there’s no way,”--declared the old man with a peculiar +intonation of melancholy. + +“Where’s your home?” + +“Just outside a village on the edge of this parish.” + +“What’s your name?” + +“Svältbacka Matti--they call me, and I’ve suffered hunger all my life +on my “hunger field.”” + +“How’s that?” + +“Well it’s true anyway. My hut is at the far end of a lonely village, +between swamps on one side and marsh land on the other. I live there +because it is not good enough for anyone else. My father built the +place, but now every year the cold starves us out.” + +“Can’t you get away from such a place? You could earn a better living +somewhere else.” + +“It is not so easy to get away as you think. If we tried to get away no +one would buy the place, so how could we buy another? We’ve got to stay +there. And it’s better there than tramping--and begging. If I could +only get away from these payments!” + +“Is it last year’s tar you are taking to the city?” + +“No. How could I keep that so long? Everything goes from hand to mouth. +That was used up long ago. Hardly was it in the barrels before away it +went to the city.” + +While we talked on we reached a farm, which at the same time was a +rest-house, and the old man said he would stop and feed his horse. This +was my intention, too, I had traveled so far that my horse needed food +and rest. The sleigh of the old man began to grate on the harsh, bare +ground in front of the farm, and the two of us then helped the old mare +as best we could. + +When we had unharnessed the horses and given them fodder, we took +our food bags and started toward the house. We, too, felt need of +breakfast. The old man picked up the little birch basket, took +something from it and sat down upon a bench in the corner near the +stove. I wanted to know what he had to eat and made believe that I had +business in the same corner. Poor and needy was his lunch. It was only +black bread and salt. + +I turned away and took up my food box. I tried to appear calm and +indifferent, although my heart was moved by strange emotions. When, +outwardly, I had regained composure, I said to him: + +“Come over here and eat with me!” The old man looked up in my face and +did not answer. He did not seem to comprehend. Perhaps he did not hear +or perhaps he wished to hold out on what he had to eat. + +“Come! Come over and eat with me,” I asked again. + +“Why should you be so good to me?” replied the old fellow, carefully +packing away again his own food in the birch basket. He came across +with slow steps, giving a hasty, searching glance at my face, in order +to convince himself that the offer was genuine. + +“We know each other so well now that we ought to be good to each +other,” I answered. + +“Sit down now and eat.” + + * * * * * + +Our roads separated. The old man went on toward the city. And while I +jogged on again alone, I could not get the poor old fellow out of my +mind. His lean mare, his scanty food, his ragged insufficient clothes, +and his face which had grown old before its time, were constantly in +my mind. And I kept on hearing his words: “Anyone would think so if he +didn’t know!” + +I travelled on one day, two days. Ahead now I saw a good sized, well +built village and a church. The village extended considerable distance +and the fields that stretched between the buildings, were extensive, +too. This was no new village, the work of pioneers. The farms were old +and well developed. Upon this land many struggles for existence had +taken place, many a life had been sacrificed. Upon these unpromising +fields even in ancient times the same struggle had been going on, +for generations and generations, in order that people of today might +enjoy the result. They who lived here now were reaping reward from +the suffering, the tears, the want, the oppression of them who had +struggled and died. Perhaps none of these who had died had paid their +interest to the pastor. + +The prosperous looking church stood upon a hill, on a thread of land, +bordering a long, indented arm of the sea. Pine woods shadowed it on +all sides. A little farther ahead, upon a piece of land projecting into +the water stood the elegant home of the pastor, in the midst of a park. +My business led me to call upon the pastor. He was a stately figure. +And in his home there was every luxury that modern civilization can +provide. + +The pastor was sitting in an expensive, richly upholstered chair. He +was tall, well built. No one could say that he had grown old before +his time. He was pastor of the parish to which Matti’s “hunger-field” +belonged, and it was because of him that Matti was trying to get to the +city with two barrels of tar. + +When I arrived the pastor was having a set-to with the clerk. + +“You act like an honest man according to your own reckoning, and you +have never once told me how many cows each person owns, and I know +perfectly well that you have the number on most of the farms,” declared +the pastor. + +“Who? I?” answered the clerk. + +“Of course--you,” was the reply, looking sharply at the clerk. + +“How could I know just how many cows each one has?” objected the clerk. +He seemed to wish to escape a violent attack of temper on the part of +the pastor. + +“You know well enough; and I know you do. But you try to conceal it +from me. The wretches are all stealing from me--and who shields them +shares the sin. Do you know clerk, what the punishment for theft is?” +shrieked the pastor in a rage. + +Red, of indignation and wounded honor dyed his cheeks, and he replied +to this accusation, which according to my opinion had gone too far. + +“I don’t think it my duty to run about the village, and count the cows, +in order to report to the pastor. Neither do I think it my duty--to +God or man--to report cows that do not exist. To be sure, upon earth +there are two kinds of people; they who make their incomes as large as +possible, and they who make it as small as possible. Who has visited +the homes of the poor--and had dealings with them--he knows the +conditions. The pastor--according to my opinion, has said things he has +no right to say.” + +Now it was the pastor’s turn to become red. Then he let all his anger +loose upon the clerk. + +“Do you know, clerk, whom you address?” + +“I know very well. I speak with my lord, the pastor, but not with a +gracious lord.” + +With these words he went away. They did not take leave of each other. I +now had opportunity to introduce my own business. The pastor was in a +bad temper. The just reproach of the clerk had done its work. + +“This ignorant clown is loud mouthed, and doesn’t know better than to +attack his superiors. He has always been obstinate and self-willed. +Many a pastor has said to me: ‘If I had him, I’d send him going.’” + +I had no answer to make to this, because it seemed to me the pastor had +been the cause of what happened. I politely brought my own business +to his attention. The pastor thought he understood the peasants and +their customs better than anyone else. He cherished the belief, and +gave expression of it to everyone, that the peasants did not show +any gratitude toward their benefactors. He did not happen to mention +just who their benefactors were, but he let it be understood that he, +himself, was the most prominent among them. This speech of his sounded +to me very like a preachment upon the subject of martyrdom. + +I concluded my business as speedily as possible and went my way. + +As it happened I still kept thinking of Svältbacka Matti and his two +barrels of tar. I couldn’t get him out of my head. I compared his life +and surroundings with that of the pastor. There was a great difference +between them. But as human beings they were equal. + +Business kept me several days in the little village. When I traveled +on again, I went into a more remote part of the parish. Here the roads +were so poor and confusing that I was forced to hire a guide. He was +a young man and wholly untouched by the responsibilities and cares of +this world. We scarcely exchanged two words on the trip. + +About a mile and a half from the church, on the left at a little +distance there was a farm, where a lot of people were assembled. + +“What sort of farm is that?” I inquired of my guide. + +“That is Svältbacka,” replied the young man carelessly. I started. + +“What are all those people doing there?” I ventured, confused. + +“O--that’s an auction sale--an execution. It’s because of a debt to the +pastor,” he explained indifferently. + +“Is the owner’s name Matti?” I asked. + +“Yes, that’s it,” replied the young man with increasing indifference. + +“I met him on the way to your village. He was going to the city. We +went along together. How is this sale possible? I surely should have +met him again.” + +“That’s easy enough to understand. Matti took another road. There’s a +detour here.” + +“I suppose he is not back from the city, because he was going to the +city to sell two barrels of tar to pay the interest,” I ventured. + +“Probably so.” + +Here the road turned toward Svältbacka.[6] + +“Drive up to the house,” I ordered. + +The guide obeyed. + +When we came near I saw that the auction was all over. There hadn’t +been much to sell. One or two lean cows was all! Besides the cows there +were a few half naked, hungry little children, and a worn looking +woman. But a creditor hasn’t any use for creatures of this kind. + +The cows were outside the yard, tied together with willow twigs. The +new owner held one end of the twigs. They were just in the act of being +driven away. The woman, white and trembling, stood in the midst of the +hungry children. She did not weep. She had wept all she could long ago, +as her eyes bore witness. I went up to her and said: + +“Did your husband not get back from the city? Is that the cause of the +auction?” + +“How do you know that Matti went to the city?” was the reply, looking +at me searchingly. + +“I went part of the way with him.” + +“No, he hasn’t come back. And he said he was going to hasten all he +could. I’m afraid something has happened. The road is bad. The old +mare is so lean, too. But when Matti comes now it won’t do any good. +Now everything’s gone. It’s all over. Even if the cows were not good +for much, they gave a few drops for the children. They were sold for +nothing, too. Who would pay for them when they were so lean? They +didn’t bring enough to pay the pastor, let alone the costs of the +auction.” Thus spoke the woman. + +Yes, yes, the misfortune had come. Things had gone their way, and no +one could say that a wrong had been done, for law is changeless and +power is holy. + +I had seen enough. I sought out my guide in the crowd, betook myself +to my conveyance and again we set out. Traveling across the untenanted +land that had just been cleared strange thoughts came to me, and we did +not talk, my guide and I. + +“What sort of man is the pastor? What do the villagers think of him?” +at length I inquired of my guide. + +“Oh, the pastor is a fine _preacher_. But he’s so mean and niggardly +that he steals the very ashes from the hearths,” replied the young man +indifferently, beginning to hum a song. + +That day I reached the end of the journey. Here I tarried several +days. Then again one Saturday I set out with my guide on the return. +Sunday morning I was in the village. I put my horse up at a farm, and +determined to go to church, since the opportunity presented itself. The +church bells rang solemnly. They were summoning the people to listen to +a message of love and peace. + +When I reached the church they were carrying a dead man upon a bier. +The pall bearers put their burden down, to wait for the pastor and the +clerk. It looked as though the pastor was still quarreling with the +clerk, and he said: “I tell you the rascals are stealing from me.” + +“Whom are they burying?” I asked of some one near. + +“Svältbacka Matti. He died driving to the city.” + +Now I understood. A shudder ran over me. My old traveling companion was +dead. He had put forth too great an effort to make the journey. That +was the reason he could not return and prevent the auction. + +The clerk read the psalm: + +“Great suffering and sorrow in the valley of tears,” etc.-- + +Probably Matti’s pastor chose this psalm. His sharp eyes and instinct +had told him that it was appropriate. + +When we reached the grave and the pastor began to bless the last place +of rest, he took the shovel, stuck it in the ground, lifted up earth +three times and threw it upon the coffin of the dead man. With great +pathos then he exclaimed: “Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt +return.” When he had thrown the wet and frozen earth upon Matti’s +coffin, it seemed to me I could hear a voice saying: “He’s a fine +_preacher_. I don’t blame the pastor--I wouldn’t steal--but I couldn’t +pay.” + +Among the mourners I looked for Matti’s wife. This woman who had been +tried in sorrow was tragically white. With tearless, reddened eyes and +hollow cheeks, she stood in the midst of the half naked children, who +were shivering and looked at one point--the coffin. I went up to speak +to her. + +When the burial was over I asked some of the people about Matti. +He was taken ill with pneumonia before he reached the city. He was +ill-clothed, wet, underfed, and he could not struggle against it. + +Now the bell summoned to church service. With others I entered the +building. After the singing and the altar service, the pastor went to +the pulpit. He chose for text: “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” “Love,” +he said, “was the fulfilling of the law.” With pathos and display of +genuine ability he explained to his hearers this high and noble command. + +During the most zealous part of his speech I heard again the words: “He +is a good _preacher_.” The lengthy sermon seemed not to be lacking in +effect. Here and there women wept. + +After service he spoke of the dead man. “God in his mercy has taken +from this vale of tears, the farmer Matti Antinporka of Svältbacka, +aged forty-two years, three months and eight days. + + What is wealth and what is gold? + Trash--that melt to dust and mold. + Care and sorrow here below + Both the rich and poor must know.” + +Thus the pastor bestowed the last earthly service upon Matti. And he +did not do it in the cheap manner of a hireling, but with oratorical +eloquence and fervor. When he read the hymn above, it seemed to his +hearers that he scorned gold and riches, and that he really suffered +for the companions in suffering of poor Matti. + +But while he was reading the hymn in a loud and impressive voice, I +heard another voice saying: + +“I’m so stupid that of course I don’t understand such things. The +Pastor--he knows more about it than I!” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[6] Svältbacka means Hunger Field. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + +Obvious punctuation and accentuation errors have been corrected. + +Page 24: “the gentle rythm” changed to “the gentle rhythm” + +Page 89: “color of the pomegranite” changed to “color of the +pomegranate” + +Page 100: “humble servent” changed to “humble servant” + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75466 *** |