Part 34 (1/2)
The pavilion consisted of two adjoining rooms. They looked very pleasant; in one of them a merry fire blazed high in the chimney and the tall clock in the corner ticked familiarly. Behind the parted brocade curtains of the high bed were seen the snow-white feather-beds inviting to rest, and two small red-bordered pillows on them. In the other room partly lighted by the firelight was a sofa covered with a bear's skin and with one cus.h.i.+on of deerskin. Evidently it had not been expected that anybody would sleep here.
Banfy looked at his wife sadly. Now for the first time, since he could no longer come near her he saw what a treasure he had had in this beautiful and n.o.ble woman. Gentle, sorrowful, with eyes downcast, his wife stood before him. In her heart too many traitorous feelings were pleading for her husband. Pride and injured wifely dignity, that inflexible judge, began almost to waver. In a n.o.ble heart love does not give way to hatred but to pain.
Banfy stepped nearer to his wife, took her hand in his and pressed it.
He felt the hand tremble, but there was no return of his pressure. He kissed her gently on the forehead, cheeks and lips: the lady permitted this but without return, and yet--had she looked up at her husband she would have seen in his eyes two tears of most sincere penitence. Banfy sat down speechless with a sigh, still holding Margaret's hand in his.
It needed only a friendly word from his wife and he would have thrown himself at her feet and wept like a repentant child. Instead of that Madame Banfy with a self-denying affectation said:
”Do you wish to stay in this room and shall I go into the other?” Her frosty tone touched Banfy. He sighed deeply and his eyes looked sorrowfully at the Paradise closed against him by his wife's joyless countenance. Sadly he rose from the chair, drew his wife's hand to his lips, whispered a barely audible ”Good-night” and with unsteady steps entered the next room and closed the door.
Madame Banfy made ready to undress, but sorrow filled her heart and she threw herself on the bed, buried her face in her hands and remained lost in grief.
Can there be a greater pain than when the heart struggles with its own feelings, than when a wife attains to the conviction that the ideal of her love whom she adored next to G.o.d, is only an ordinary man, and that the man whom she had loved so devotedly is deserving only of her contempt? yet she is not able to stop loving him. She feels that she must hate him and separate herself from him; she knows that she cannot live without him; she would gladly die for him and yet no opportunity for death offers. Only an unlocked door separated them,--they were only a few steps apart. How small the distance and yet how great!
She sank into a deep revery. The fire had entirely burned down and the room was growing darker and darker. Only the woman's figure with her head buried in her hands was still lighted by the glowing coals.
Suddenly it seemed to her in the stillness of the night and of her thoughts, as if she heard whispers and stealthy steps at the door.
Madame Banfy really did hear this but she was in that first sleep when we hear without noticing what we hear; when we know what pa.s.ses without heed. There was a whispering outside the window too, and it seemed to her that she heard besides a slight noise of swords. Half asleep, half awake, she thought she had risen and bolted the door but this was only a dream; the door was not fastened. Then there was the noise of the latch--she dreamed that her husband came out to her and entreated her.
”Let us separate, Banfy,” she tried to say, but the words died on her lips. The figure in the dream whispered to her, ”I am not Banfy, but the headsman,” and took her by the hand. At this cold touch Madame Banfy cried out in terror and awoke. Two men stood before her with daggers drawn. The lady looked at them with a shudder; both were well-known figures; one was Caspar Kornis, Captain at Maros, and the other was John Daczo, Captain at Csik, who stood there threatening her with the points of their bared daggers at her breast.
”No noise, my gracious lady!” said Daczo, sternly. ”Where is Banfy?”
The lady, wakened from her first sleep, could scarcely distinguish the objects about her. Terror robbed her of speech. Suddenly she noticed through the door that the pa.s.sage-way was filled with armed men and with that sight her presence of mind seemed to return at once. She took in the significance of the moment and when Daczo, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth once more asked where Banfy was she sprang up, ran to the door opening to her husband's room, turned the key quickly and shouted with all her might:
”Banfy, save yourself! They want your life!”
Daczo ran forward to stop the woman's mouth and wrest the key from her. With rare presence of mind Madame Banfy threw the key into the coals and cried:
”Flee, Banfy, your enemies are here!”
Daczo tried to get the key out of the coals and burned his hand badly; still more infuriated he rushed at the lady with his dagger unsheathed intending to thrust her through, but Kornis held him back.
”Stop, my lord, we have no orders to kill the lady nor would it be worthy of us. Let us rather break in the door as quickly as possible.”
Both men pushed with their shoulders against the door, Daczo cursing by all the devils, while Madame Banfy on her knees prayed G.o.d her husband might escape.
Banfy had fallen asleep and he too had a distressing dream. He thought he was in prison, and when Margaret's cry rang out he sprang in terror from his couch, tore open the window of the pavilion without stopping to think and with one bound was in the garden. Here he looked round him quickly. The house was surrounded on all sides by armed Szeklers and the rear of the garden was bordered by a broad ditch filled with stagnant rain-water. Among the foot-soldiers was a group of four or five stable boys standing beside the horses from which the leaders had just dismounted. There was no time to plan. Under cover of the darkness Banfy hurried up to one of the servants, struck him a blow that made the blood flow from nose and mouth, sprang on the horse he was holding and struck the stirrup into its flank. At the outcry of the servant thrown down by the horse but still holding to the halter the Szeklers came running up with wild cries. It suddenly occurred to Banfy to put his hand in the saddlebags where there were always pistols, and seizing one he fired two shots into the crowd pressing about him. In the confusion that resulted he made his horse rear and fled through the garden. The stable boy still clung to the halter and was dragged along until his head struck against the trunk of a tree and he lay there senseless. Banfy galloped to the ditch and crossed it with a bold leap. His pursuers dared not follow him and had to go round by the gate, by which Banfy gained on them several hundred paces, gave rein to the beast, maddened by the noise of pursuit, and chased away over sticks and stones, hills and valleys, without aim or direction.
”A curse on the woman!” growled Daczo, when he learned that Banfy had succeeded in escaping, and he threatened the wife with clenched fist.
”You are to blame that Banfy has escaped us!”
”Thanks to Thee, Almighty G.o.d!” said Margaret, with hands upraised to heaven.
The Szeklers, exasperated at the husband's escape, rushed at the wife with weapons aimed to kill her.
”Let her die!” ”Death on her head!” they roared, with inhuman fury.