Part 9 (1/2)
”No, I know. Therefore I said that religion had nothing to do with it. I can't explain it exactly, Bela, but don't we all feel alike about that?
Hungarians are Hungarians, and Jews are Jews, and there's no getting away from that. They are different to us, somehow. I can't say how, but they are different. They don't speak as we do, they don't think as we do, their Sunday is Sat.u.r.day, and their New Year's day is in September.
Jewesses can't dance the csardas and Jews have a contempt for our gipsy music and our songs. They are Jews and we are Hungarians. It is altogether different.”
He shrugged his shoulders, unable apparently to gainsay this unanswerable argument. After all, he too was a Hungarian, and proud of that fact, and like all Hungarians at heart, he had an unexplainable contempt for the Jews. But all the same, he was not going to give in to a woman in any kind of disagreement, least of all on a point on which he had set his heart. So now he s.h.i.+fted his ground back to his original dictum.
”You may talk as much as you like, Elsa,” he said doggedly, ”but Klara Goldstein is my friend, and I will have her asked to the banquet first and the dance afterwards, or I'll not appear at it myself.”
”That's clear, I hope?” he added roughly, as Elsa, in her habitual peace-loving way, had made no comment on that final threat.
”It is quite clear, Bela,” she now said pa.s.sively.
”Of course the girl shall be asked, Bela,” here interposed Irma neni, who had no intention of quarrelling with her wealthy son-in-law. ”I'll see to it, and don't you lose your temper about it. Here! sit down again. Elsa, bring your father's chair round for supper. Bela, do sit down and have a bite. I declare you two might be married already, so much quarrelling do you manage to get through.”
But Bela, as sulky now as a bear with a sore head, refused to stay for supper.
”I can't bear sullen faces and dark looks,” he said savagely. ”I'll go where I can see pleasant smiles and have some fun. I must say, Irma neni,” he added by way of a parting shot, as he picked up his hat and made for the door, ”that I do not admire the way you have brought up your daughter. A woman's place is not only to obey her husband, but to look cheerful about it. However,” he added, with a dry laugh, ”we'll soon put that right after to-morrow, eh, my dove?”
And with a perfunctory attempt at a more lover-like att.i.tude, he turned to Elsa, who already had jumped to her feet, and with a pleasant smile was holding up her sweet face to her future lord for a kiss.
She looked so exquisitely pretty then, standing in the gloomy half-light of this squalid room, with the slanting golden suns.h.i.+ne which peeped in through the tiny west window outlining her delicate silhouette and touching her smooth fair hair with gold.
Vanity, self-satisfaction, and mayhap something a little more tender, a little more selfless, stirred in the young man's heart. It was fine to think that this beautiful prize--which so many had coveted--was his by right of conquest. Even the young lord whose castle was close by had told Eros Bela that he envied him his good luck, whilst my lord the Count and my lady the Countess had of themselves offered to be present at the wedding and to be the princ.i.p.al witnesses on behalf of the most beautiful girl in the county.
These pleasant thoughts softened Bela's mood, and he drew his fiancee quite tenderly to him. He kissed her on the forehead and on the cheeks, but she would not let him touch her lips. He laughed at her shyness, the happy triumphant laugh of the conqueror.
Then he nodded to Irma and was gone.
”He is a very good fellow at heart,” said the mother philosophically, ”you must try and humour him, Elsa. He is very proud of you really, and think what a beautiful house you will have, and all those oxen and pigs and a carriage and four horses. You must thank G.o.d on your knees for so much good fortune; there are girls in this village who would give away their ears to be standing in your shoes.”
”Indeed, mother dear, I am very, very grateful for all my good fortune,”
said Elsa cheerfully, as with vigorous young arms she pulled the paralytic's chair round to the table and then got him ready for his meal.
After which there was a moment's silence. Elsa and her mother each stood behind her own chair: the young girl's clear voice was raised to say a simple grace before a simple meal.
The stew had not been put on the table, since Bela did not stay for supper. It would do for to-morrow's dinner, and for to-night maize porridge and rye bread would be quite sufficient.
Elsa looked after her father and herself ate with a hearty, youthful appet.i.te. Her mother could not help but be satisfied that the child was happy.
The philosophy of life had taught Kapus Irma a good many lessons, foremost among these was the one which defined the exact relations.h.i.+p between the want of money and all other earthly ills. Certainly the want of money was the father of them all. Elsa in future would never feel it, therefore all other earthly ills would fall away from her for lack of support.
It was as well to think that the child realized this, and was grateful for her own happiness.
CHAPTER VIII
”I put the bunda away somewhere.”
Kapus Irma went out after supper to hold a final consultation with the more influential matrons of Marosfalva over the arrangements for to-morrow's feast. Old Kapus had been put to bed on his pailla.s.se in the next room and Elsa was all alone in the small living-room. She had washed up the crockery and swept up the hearth for the night; cloth in hand, she was giving the miserable bits of furniture something of a rub-down and general furbis.h.i.+ng-up: a thing she could only do when her mother was away, for Irma hated her to do things which appeared like a comment on her own dirty, slatternly ways.