Chapter II: Three Sparks

Madame sits in the carriage, and can understand nothing of what is going on. The young lady entrusted to her charge springs out of the carriage, runs up to a strange man in a long black coat, throws her arms round his neck, and then they all begin to talk with excited gestures, standing under the pear-tree. Then her pupil comes back to the carriage, mild as a lamb, arm in arm with the young man who had found her earring yesterday. All of this is so unexpected, so surprising. And while they are mending the broken shaft and reharnessing the horses, the man in the black coat, who turns out to be the girl's brother, turns to her and whispers in her ear:

"Your pupil has just engaged herself!"

Good gracious! When and where? Why, now, under the tree! Ah, Madame Krisbay, you feel you ought to faint now, partly because you are a correct woman, and consequently horrified at the way the event has taken place, and partly because you have fallen among such strange people; but your bottle of Eau de Cologne is quite at the bottom of your travelling-bag, and so it will be better not to faint now. But it is very shocking all the same! For though a tree is suitable for flirting under, or for declarations of love, it is not the correct place to ask a parent or guardian for a girl's hand. The proper place for that (especially in novels) is a well-furnished drawing-room. If the girl is very shy she runs out of the room; if not very shy she falls on her knees and asks the blessing of her parents or guardian, as the case may be. But how is one to kneel under a tree? These were the thoughts that were troubling Madame Krisbay, not Veronica. She, on the contrary, was thinking that one fine day she would return to this spot with her sketch-book, and draw the old tree as a souvenir.

All this time the carriage was rolling along the dusty road. There was no room for the coachman, so he had to follow on foot, and Gyuri took the reins into his own hands, Veronica sitting on the box beside him. Oh dear! she thought, what would they think of her in the village as they drove through?

The road was better now, and they could drive faster, so Gyuri loosened the reins, and began to think over the events that had taken place. Was it a dream or not? No, it could not be, for there was Veronica sitting near to him, and behind him Father Janos was talking to Madame Krisbay in the language of the Gauls. No, it was simple truth, though it seemed stranger than fiction. Who would have believed yesterday that before the sun set twice he would find his inheritance, and a wife into the bargain? Twenty-four hours ago he had not known of the existence of Miss Veronica Belyi. Strange! And now he was trying to imagine what the world had been like without her. It seemed impossible that he had not felt the want of her yesterday. But the wheels were making such a noise, that he found it difficult to collect his thoughts. Wonders had happened. One legend, that of the umbrella, was done away with, but on its ruins another had built itself up. Heaven and earth had combined to help him to his inheritance. Heaven had sent a dream and earth a protector.

His heart swelled as he thought of it. Oh, if the girl next him only knew to what a rich man she had promised her hand!

After passing the Kopanyicza Hills, which seem like a screen to the entrance of the valley, Glogova, with its little white houses, lay before them.

"We are nearly at home now," said Veronica.

"Where is the Presbytery?" asked Gyuri.

"At the end of the village."

"Tell me when to turn to the right or the left."

"Very well, Mr. Coachman! At present keep straight on."

A smell of lavender pervaded the street, and the tidy little gardens were filled with all sorts of flowers. In front of the houses children were playing, and in most of the courtyards a foal was running about, with a bell tied round its neck. Otherwise the village seemed quite deserted, for all who could work were out in the fields, and the women, having cooked the dinner at home, had carried it out to their husbands. Only on the grass-plot in front of the school-house was there life; there the children were at play, and their greetings to those in the carriage was in Hungarian.

Of the villagers only the "aristocratic" were at home. At the threshold of a pretty little stone house stood Gongoly, much stouter than some years before. In front of the smithy sat Klincsok, quietly smoking, while the smith mended a wheel.

"Hallo!" he called out. "So you've come back! Why, we were thinking of looking out for another priest!" Which showed that Father Janos' absence had been noticed.

How Glogova had changed in the last few years! There was a tower to the church, the like of which was not to be seen except in Losoncz; only that on the tower of Losoncz there was a weathercock. In the middle of the village was a hotel, "The Miraculous Umbrella," with Virginian creeper climbing all over it, and near it a pretty little white house, looking as though it were made of sugar; behind it a garden with a lot of young trees in it.

"Whose house is that?" asked Gyuri, turning round.

"The owner is on the box-seat beside you."

"Really? Is it yours, Veronica?"

She nodded her head.

"There is a small farm belonging to it," said Father Janos modestly.

"Well, we won't take it with us, but leave it here for your brother, shall we, Veronica?"

Then he turned to the priest again, saying:

"Veronica has a fortune worthy of a countess, but neither you nor she knows of it."

Both the priest and Veronica were so surprised at this announcement, that they did not notice they were in front of the Presbytery, and Gyuri would have driven on if Vistula, the old watch-dog, had not rushed out barking with joy; and old Widow Adamecz called out, with the tears rolling down her face:

"Holy Mary! you have heard the prayers of your servant!"

"Stop! here we are. Open the gate, Mrs. Adamecz."

The widow wiped away her tears, dropped her book, and got up to open the gate.

"Is dinner ready?" asked Father Janos.

"Dinner? Of course not. Whom was I to cook for? We all thought your reverence was lost. I have not even lighted the fire, for my tears would only have put it out again."

"Never mind, Mrs. Adamecz. I feel sure you were anxious on my account, but now go and see about some dinner for us, for we are dying of hunger."

Veronica had become suspicious at the widow's words, and began to storm her brother with questions; then burst out crying and turned her back upon Gyuri, declaring they were hiding something from her. So they were obliged to tell her the truth, and her poor little heart nearly broke when she thought of what her brother had gone through, and what danger he had been in.

While this was going on, Mrs. Adamecz was bustling about in the kitchen, and giving every one plenty of work to do. Both the maids were called in to help, and the farm-servant too.

"Come and whip this cream, Hanka. And you, Borbala, go and fetch some salt. Is the goose plucked? Now, Matyas, don't be so lazy, run and pick some parsley in the garden. Dear me! How very thin the good lady is whom Miss Veronica has brought home with her. Did you see her? I shall have hard work to feed her up and make her decently fat. Give me a saucepan; not that one, the other. And, Borbala, grate me some bread-crumbs. But the young man is handsome. I wonder what he wants here? What did you say? You don't know? Of course you don't know, silly, if I don't. But this much is certain (between ourselves of course), there is something strange in Miss Veronica's eyes. Something has happened, but I can't make out what."

Widow Adamecz thought of all sorts of things, both good and bad, but her cooking was excellent, and she gave them such a dinner, that even the lovers found their appetites.

After dinner, Gyuri sent a man on horseback with a letter to Mr. Sztolarik in Besztercebanya.

"MY DEAR GUARDIAN:

"I have great things to communicate to you, but at
present can only write the outlines. I have found the
umbrella, partly through Mrs. Muencz, partly by chance.
At present I am in Glogova, at the priest's house,
whose sister Veronica I have asked in marriage. She is
a very pretty girl; besides, there is no way of getting
at the money unless I marry her. Please send me by the
messenger two gold rings from Samuel Huszak's shop,
and the certificate of my birth; it must be among your
papers somewhere. I should like the banns to be
published the day after to-morrow.

"I remain," etc.

He told the messenger to hurry.

"I'll hurry, but the horse won't!"

"Well, use your spurs."

"So I would, but there are no spurs on sandals!"

The horse was a wretched one, but all the same, next day they heard a carriage stop at the door, and who should get out but Sztolarik himself. Great man though he was, no one was glad to see him except the priest. Veronica felt frightened. She hardly knew why, but it seemed as though a breath of cold air had entered with him. Why had he come here just now?

The old lawyer was very pleasant to her.

"So this is little Veronica?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Gyuri proudly.

The old gentleman took her small hand in his large one, and pinched her cheek in fatherly fashion. But no amount of pinching would bring the roses back just then. Her heart was heavy with fear. Why, oh, why had he come?

Gyuri was surprised too, for Sztolarik hated to leave his home.

"Have you brought them?" he asked.

"Yes."

Veronica drew a breath of relief, for Gyuri had mentioned that he expected the engagement rings from Besztercebanya.

"Give them to me," he said.

"Later on," answered the old lawyer. "First of all I must speak to you."

He must speak to him first? Then he must have something to say which could not be said after they had exchanged rings! Veronica again felt a weight on her heart. Gyuri got up discontentedly from his place next to Veronica, whose fingers began to play nervously with the work she had in her hands.

"Come across to my room then."

Gyuri's room was at the other end of the house, which was built in the shape of an L. It used to be the schoolroom before the new school was built. (Widow Adamecz had learnt her A B C there.) The priest who had been there before Father Janos had divided the room into two parts by a nicely painted wooden partition, and of one half he had made a spare bedroom, of the other a storeroom.

Veronica was feeling as miserable as she could, and her one wish at that moment was to hear the two gentlemen's conversation, for everything depended on that. Some demon who had evidently never been to school, and had never learned that it was dishonorable to listen at doors or walls, whispered to her:

"Run quickly, Veronica, into the storeroom, and if you press your ear to the wall, you will be able to hear what they say."

Off went Veronica like a shot. It is incredible what an amount of honey a demon of that description can put into his words; he was capable of persuading this well-educated girl to take her place among the pickled cucumbers, basins of lard, and sacks of potatoes, in order to listen to a conversation which was not meant for her ears.

Not a sound was to be heard in the storeroom but the dripping of the fat from a side of bacon hanging from the rafters, and which the great heat there was causing it to melt. Some of it even fell on her pretty dress, but what did she care for that just then?

"So you have found out all about the umbrella," she heard Sztolarik say, "but have you seen it yet?"

"Why should I?" asked Gyuri. "I cannot touch its contents till after the wedding."

"Why not sooner?"

"Because, for various reasons, I do not wish the story of the umbrella known."

"For instance?"

"First of all, because Father Janos would be the laughing-stock of the place."

"Why do you trouble your head about the priest?"

"Secondly, because it would give Veronica reason to think I am only marrying her for the sake of the umbrella."

"But she will know it later on in any case."

"I shall never tell her."

"Have you any other reasons?"

"Oh, yes. I dare say they would not even give me the check; it is probably not made out in any particular name; so how am I to prove to them that it is mine? It really belongs to the person who has it in his possession. And perhaps they would not even give me the girl, for if her fortune is as large as we think it, she can find as many husbands as she has fingers on her hands."

Veronica felt giddy. It was as though they were driving nails into her flesh. She could not quite understand all they were talking about--of umbrellas, receipts, large fortunes. What fortune? But this much she had begun to understand, that she was only the means to some end.

"Well, well," began Sztolarik again after a short pause, "the affair seems to be pretty entangled at present, but there is still worse to come."

"What more can come?" asked Gyuri in an uncertain voice.

"Don't do anything at present. Let us find out first of all whether you love the girl."

Poor little Veronica was trembling like a leaf in her hiding-place. She shut her eyes like a criminal before his execution, with a sort of undefined feeling that the blow would be less painful so. What would he answer?

"I think I love her," answered Gyuri, again in that uncertain voice. "She is so pretty, don't you think so?"

"Of course. But the question is, would you in other circumstances have asked her to marry you? Answer frankly!"

"I should never have thought of such a thing."

A sob was heard in the next room, and then a noise as though some pieces of furniture had been thrown down.

Sztolarik listened for a few moments, and then, pointing to the wall, asked:

"Do you know what is on the other side?"

"I think it is the storeroom."

"I thought I heard some one sob."

"Perhaps one of the servants saw a mouse!"

And that is how a tragedy looks from the next room when the wall is thin. If there is a thick wall it does not even seem so bad. One of the servants had seen a mouse, or a heart had been broken; for who was to know that despair and fright only have one sound to express them?

Veronica, with her illusions dispersed, ran out into the open air; she wished to hear no more, only to get away from that hated place, for she felt suffocating; away, away, as far as she could go.... And this all seemed, from the next room, as though Widow Adamecz or Hanka had seen a mouse. But, however it may have seemed to them, they had forgotten the whole thing in half a minute.

"You say it would never have occurred to you to marry her. So you had better not hurry with the wedding. Let us first see the umbrella and its contents, and then we shall see what is to be done next."

Gyuri went on quietly smoking his cigarette and thought:

"Sztolarik is getting old. Fancy making such a fuss about it!"

"I have thought it well over," he went on aloud, "and there is no other way of managing it; I must marry the girl."

Sztolarik got up from his chair, and came and stood in front of the young man, fixing his eyes on him.

"But supposing you could get at your inheritance without marrying Veronica?"

Gyuri could not help smiling.

"Why, I have just said," he exclaimed impatiently, "that it cannot be done, but even if it could, I would not do it, for I feel as though she also had a right to the fortune, as it has been in her possession so long, and Providence seems to have sent it direct to her."

"But supposing you could get at it through Veronica?"

"That seems out of the question too."

"Really? Well, now listen to me, Gyuri, for I have something to tell you."

"I am listening."

But his thoughts were elsewhere, as he drummed on the table with his fingers.

"Well," went on Sztolarik, "when I went in to Huszak's this morning to buy the two rings you wanted sent by the messenger (for I had no intention of coming here myself then), Huszak was not in the shop, so the rabbit-mouthed young man waited on me. You know him?"

Yes, Gyuri remembered him.

"I told him to give me two rings, and he asked whom they were for. So I said they were going a good distance. Then he asked where to, and I told him to Glogova. 'Perhaps to the priest's sister?' he asked. 'Yes,' I said. 'She's a beauty,' he remarked. 'Why, do you know her?' asked I. 'Very well,' he answered."

Gyuri stopped tapping, and jumped up excitedly.

"Did he say anything about Veronica?"

"You shall hear in a minute. While he was wrapping up the rings he went on talking. How had he got to know the priest's sister? 'I was in Glogova last year.' 'And what the devil were you doing in Glogova?' 'Why, the villagers were having a silver handle made here for a wretched-looking old umbrella, which they keep in their church, and the stupid things were afraid to send the umbrella here for fear any one should steal it, though it was not worth twopence; so I was obliged to go there in order to fasten the handle on.'"

"Why, this is dreadful!" exclaimed Gyuri, turning pale.

Sztolarik smiled.

"That is only why I said, my friend, that we had better wait a bit before deciding anything."

"Let us go at once to Father Janos and ask him to show us the umbrella."

He could not wait a minute longer. He had been so near to his object, and now it was slipping from him again, like a Fata Morgana, which lures the wanderer on to look for it.

It was easy to find the priest; he was feeding his pigeons in the garden.

"Father Janos," began Gyuri, "now Mr. Sztolarik is here he would like to look at your wonderful umbrella. Can we see it?"

"Of course. Mrs. Adamecz," he called out to the old woman, who was plucking a fowl at the kitchen door, "will you bring me out the key of the church, please?"

She did as she was asked, and the priest, going on in front, led his visitors through the church.

"This way, gentlemen, into the sacristy."

As they stepped in there it was before them! Pal Gregorics's old umbrella smiled at them, and seemed like an old friend, only the handle, yes, the handle was unknown to them, for it was of silver.

Gyuri gazed at it speechlessly, and felt that the end was near. A demon was behind him, constantly urging him on, and whispering: "Go on, go on, and look for your inheritance!" A second demon ran on before him, beckoning and crying: "Come along, it is this way!"

But there was a third one, the liveliest of all, who followed in the wake of the second one, and each time Gyuri thought he had attained his end, this demon turned round, and laughed in his face, saying: "There is nothing here!"

Sztolarik kept his countenance, and carefully examined the handle of the umbrella, as though he were admiring the work.

"Had it always this same handle?" he asked.

"Oh dear no, this is of real silver, and very finely chased. The jeweller in Besztercebanya made it, and he is quite an artist. Just look at the style, and what taste is displayed in it. My parishioners had it made last summer as a surprise for me while I was away at the baths. The old handle had been broken off, and it was almost impossible to make use of the umbrella. I expect it was Klincsok's idea, for he started the collection. There are still plenty of good Christian hearts to be found."

Then he turned to Gyuri.

"I will introduce you to Klincsok, he is a very worthy man."

Gyuri wished the worthy Klincsok in Jericho, and he could even have found him a companion for the journey, for behind him was the first demon, again whispering: "Go and look for your inheritance!"

"But I suppose they kept the old handle?" he asked.

"I do not think so," answered the priest. "It was only of common wood; I believe Mrs. Adamecz asked Veronica for it."

(It must have been the second demon speaking through the priest: "The handle of the umbrella is in Mrs. Adamecz's possession.")

Sztolarik now became curious too.

"Who is Mrs. Adamecz?" he asked.

"My old cook, who just now brought me the keys."

Mr. Sztolarik burst out laughing, the walls of the empty church re-echoing with the sound. When they were outside, and the priest had gone in with the keys, the old lawyer took the two rings out of the paper they were wrapped in and pressed them into Gyuri's palm, saying quaintly:

"According to your logic of half an hour ago, you must now marry old Mrs. Adamecz, so go and ask for her hand at once."

Gyuri gave no answer to this cruel thrust, and went into the kitchen, where the widow was frying pancakes.

"I say, Mrs. Adamecz, where have you put the old handle of the church umbrella?"

Widow Adamecz finished frying her pancake, put it on a wooden platter with those she had already fried, and then turned round to see who was speaking to her.

"What have I done with the old handle, my dear? Well, you see, this is how it was. My little grandson, Matyko, got ill last year just at cabbage-cutting time--no, I believe it was earlier in the year ..."

"I don't care when it was, only go on."

Widow Adamecz quietly poured some more of the batter into the frying-pan.

"Let me see, what was I saying? Ah, yes, I was speaking of Matyko. Well, it was the result of the staring."

(The peasants think that if a child is much looked at and admired it pines away.)

Gyuri began impatiently to tap with his foot on the floor.

"Will you tell me where it is?"

"It is there under the table."

"What, the handle?"

"No, the child."

Yes, there was Matyko, sitting on a basin turned upside down, a fat-faced, blue-eyed Slovak child, playing with some dried beans, its face still dirty from the pancakes it had eaten.

"Bother you, woman! Are you deaf?" burst out the lawyer. "I asked you about the handle of the umbrella, not about the child."

Mrs. Adamecz tossed her head.

"Well, that's just what I am talking about. I tell you, they persisted in admiring Matyko, and the poor little angel was fading away. There is only one remedy for that; you must take a burning stick, and let three sparks fall from it into a glass of water, and of this the child must drink for three days. I did this, but it was of no use; the child went on suffering and getting thinner from day to day, and my heart nearly broke at the sight of him; for I have a very soft heart, as his reverence will tell you ..."

"I don't doubt it for a minute, but for heaven's sake answer my question."

"I'm coming to it in a minute, sir. Just at that time they were having the silver handle made to the umbrella, and our young lady, pretty dear, gave me the old handle. Why, thought I, that will be just the thing for Matyko; if three sparks from that holy wood are of no use, then Matyko will be entered in the ranks of God's soldiers."

At the thought of little Matyko as one of God's soldiers her tears began to flow. It was lucky if none of them fell into the frying-pan.

"Mrs. Adamecz!" exclaimed Gyuri, alarmed, his voice trembling. "You surely did not burn the handle?"

The old woman looked at him surprised.

"How was I to get the three sparks from it if I did not burn it?"

Gyuri fell back against the wall, the kitchen and everything in it swam before his eyes, the plates and basins seemed to be dancing a waltz together; a tongue of fire arose from the fireplace, bringing with it the third demon, who exclaimed: "There is nothing here!"

But all at once he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was Sztolarik.

"It was, and is no more," he said. "But never mind, Fate intended it to be so. For the future you will not, at all events, run after a shadow, you will be yourself again, and that is worth a good deal, after all."