Mor Jokai

"My dear Henrietta," Leonard had said to his wife the day before, as he shook the dust of the chase off his clothes, "very shortly some guests will arrive at HidvÁr and possibly they may be numerous. May I ask you to make ready for their reception?"

Henrietta signified by a motion of her head that she understood.

"It is possible you may have to perform the duties of hostess without my assistance, for I have to be off at once to Szeb and don't expect to be back for a couple of days. It is possible that the gentlemen in question may arrive during my absence which I should very much regret. Nevertheless you may depend upon my hastening home as quickly as I can to meet them here."

All this did not seem to interest Henrietta very much. Leonard noticed it.

"Let the gentry, my dear, occupy the room overlooking the park, the servants had better have the six rooms generally given to hunting parties on the ground floor, with the four and twenty beds."

At these directions the lady looked at her lord with an expression of surprised inquiry.

"I see," resumed her husband, "you are asking yourself what sort of company that can be for whose master one room suffices while the servants require six. I will tell you. It is the armed corps from Arad which is charged with the capture of Fatia Negra and his associates. As they will pass by this way I don't see how they can avoid calling at HidvÁr. In fact I have invited the magistrate who commands the corps to make HidvÁr the centre of his operations and if he is a sensible man he will accept my invitation. The name of my guest I have not yet mentioned," continued Leonard with easy levity, "it is Szilard Vamhidy, a justice of the peace of the county of Arad—really a very nice young man."

Henrietta became as white as a statue.

"You will greatly oblige me, my dear Henrietta, if you will do your best to make our guest feel quite at home in our house. But you are a sensible woman, so I have no need to press the point. Let me kiss your hand—au revoir!"

Henrietta watched him go out, watched him get into his carriage and bowl off and then began to weep and hide her head among the cushions that nobody might hear her.

They are pursuing Fatia Negra! ... Szilard Vamhidy is pursuing Fatia Negra!

He will come hither, he will enter this very castle. Leonard himself has invited him!

He will certainly come to see his former love once more. The thought was terrible!

But it must not, it should not happen.

Leonard himself had invited Vamhidy to his castle. This man relied too much on the terror of a poor timid woman, he built too much on that nimbus of terror which made him so horribly unassailable in her eyes. What! first to invite the former lover of his wife to be his guest and then show his indifference by choosing that very time to absent himself from the house for some days!

But on one thing she was resolved—Vamhidy should not find her at HidvÁr. She would fly. She would leave her husband's house. Where should she go? Who would receive her? What would become of her? She did not know, she gave the matter no thought, but one thing was certain: Szilard and she might meet together in the grave but they should never encounter each other beneath the shadow of the halls of HidvÁr.

There was nobody she could confide in. All the servants were her husband's paid spies and her own jailors. The priest had disappeared altogether from HidvÁr. In her despair an old memory rose up before her. She called to mind that during the earlier days of her stay at HidvÁr when she had explored the whole region under the delusion that she could make the wretched happy, she had often passed a little house which had always riveted her attention. It was a little hunting hut in the midst of the forest built entirely of wood and planed smoothly outside like a little polished cabinet. In front of it stood broad spreading fruit trees, crowded with flowers in spring, crowded with fruit in autumn, wild vines and moss grew all over its roofs.

In the midst of the listening woods this little house had such an inviting exterior that the very first time she saw it, Henrietta could not resist the temptation of entering it.

The door of the little house stood open before her, being only on the latch. She had stepped in: there was nobody inside. In the first room there was furniture of some hard wood; close to the wall stood a carved side-board with painted earthenware on it, on a table was a pitcher of a similar ware full of fresh pure water. The door of another room to the right was also open and in that room also she found nobody. There stood a bed with a bear skin for a coverlet, other bear skins spread on the floor served instead of carpets and on the walls were bright lynx, and wildcat skins.

From this room there was a door leading into a third room and here also she found nobody. The walls of this room were covered with weapons—guns, pistols and curiously shaped swords and daggers, in rows and crossed, hanging on nails and leaning against the walls. On the oaken table stood stuffed beasts and birds, under the table was a stuffed fox fastened to a chair; a pair of wild boars' heads with powerful tusks were over the door, but there was no sign of any living beast.

Henrietta fancied that the master of this little house must be away but not far off and she made up her mind to wait till he returned home. Yet one hour after another passed away and Henrietta was at last obliged to go on further lest she should have to pass the night there and, only when she was already some distance away, was she struck by the peculiar circumstance that all round the hut grass was growing thickly and that no path led up to it.

In a few weeks' time curiosity drew her again in the same direction. Alone, without any escort, she stood before the forest dwelling, fastened her horse to the fence and passed through the door.

Everything was just as she had seen it on the first occasion. In the first room on the table was the earthenware pitcher full of water; in the second room was the bed covered with a bear skin and in the third room were all the guns and other weapons just as she had seen them before.

Again she waited for a long time for some of the dwellers of this little house to draw near, and again she waited in vain; even by eventide not a human being had approached the hut.

These hut dwellers must be curious folks she thought, they leave everything unlocked, evil disposed people might steal everything.

On the way back she met some charcoal burners and asked them about the lonely little house in the midst of the forest. Three of the four pretended not to understand: they did not remember ever seeing such a house they said. The fourth, however, told the lady in reply that in that house dwelt "Dracu."[51]

[51] The Devil.

This only made Henrietta more than ever curious. She asked the priest about it and even he was inclined to be evasive. He evidently either knew nothing about it or was casting about in his mind for some plausible explanation. At last he said that rumour had it that a huntsman's family had either been murdered or had committed suicide there, and, ever since, nobody dwelling in the district could be persuaded to cross its threshold, let alone steal anything out of it; they would not even take shelter there during a storm, for they believed that an evil spirit dwelt there.

Henrietta, however, did not believe in these invisible evil spirits. The evil spirits she was acquainted with all went about in dress clothes and surtouts. The atmosphere of mystery and enchantment which made the little house uninhabitable only stimulated her fancy. She determined to discover whether it was really uninhabited or not.

Accordingly, when she entered the house for the third time, she plucked a wild rose and threw one of its buds into the pitcher of water on the table, a second on the bear skin coverlet of the bed and a third, fourth and fifth she stuck into the barrels of the muskets hanging up in the armour room.

When now, she visited the lonely house for the fourth time, she looked for the rose buds and could not find one of them in the places where she had put them. Consequently there must needs be someone who slept in the bed, drank the fresh water from the pitcher and used the firearms.

Her thirst for knowledge now induced her to enquire of her husband concerning this little dwelling and he, then and there, elucidated the mystery.

It was quite true that a lonely inhabitant of this house had once been murdered there, that the common people believed it to be haunted, and that consequently not one of them would cross its threshold at any price either by day or by night. An old landed proprietor from the mining town of X., who owned a small strip of forest in those parts and was at the same time an enthusiastic huntsman, had taken advantage of this popular superstition to buy this little house, for a mere song. He used it as a hunting box. He could not afford to keep a huntsman of his own to look after it and knowing that if he locked it up, thieves would most probably break into it and steal everything, he left the doors wide open and everyone instantly avoided it as uncanny. The reason Henrietta never met him was that this old gentleman was a government official, who had to live most of his time in the town of Klausenburg, but whenever he was not hunting here he was out in the forests all night till dawn when he turned into the little house for a nap and was off again before the afternoon; and so Henrietta who regularly visited the hut in the afternoon, naturally never encountered him.

Leonard even named the old gentleman's name and then Henrietta remembered meeting him at the soirÉes at Klausenburg. Leonard, however, warned his wife never to mention the matter in the presence of the old gentleman in question, if she should ever meet him, for he had sundry relations with poachers and other people of that sort. The fact was, his own strip of forest was not very large and therefore he very frequently trespassed on Leonard's property in pursuit of game. The old gentleman was, therefore, very desirous to keep his passion for the chase a secret, especially as his relations with Leonard were none of the best.

After that Henrietta had visited the little forest house no more. This prosaic explanation had robbed it in her eyes of all its mysterious interest, nor did she think it becoming to enter a house whose owner was not on very good terms with her husband. Only now did the recollection of the little forest dwelling recur to her, and in the terror of her soul she began to regard the little moss-covered hut whose doors stood, open, night and day, as a possible asylum. It was the only place where she could take refuge, the only place where she had no need to fear spies, where nobody would look for her, where she might remain in hiding and from whence she might either return home or wander further out into the world according as fate was kind or unkind to her.

At night there would be nobody in the little house, for the enthusiastic old hunter would be stalking the forest. It was also possible that his official duties might keep him away for days together. But even if she were to meet him, why should she be afraid of the eccentric old man? Would she not rather find in him a natural protector who would conduct her out of the mountains to Klausenburg or Banfi-Hunyad, from whence she would make her way to Pest and there seek a refuge in her aunt's house?

She did not think twice about it, but accepted the idea as a heaven-sent inspiration which it was her duty to follow. She put on a shawl as if she were only going to take a walk in the moonlight and descended into the park accompanied by the gardener's daughter whom she had bribed to help her to escape. The girl succeeded in hoodwinking the men servants by dressing herself up in a mantle of her mistress's, pretending she would have supper out in the park as the night was so fine and warm, so that by the time the fraud was discovered and the alarm given, Henrietta had had a start of several hours and although the men, fearful of the anger of their master when he should return and find his wife flown, searched in every direction with lighted torches they were unable to discover a trace of the missing lady.

Terror lends strength to the most feeble. Ordinarily Henrietta was so weak that it was as much as she could do to promenade through the park. But to-day after a two hours' run over stones and through briars and bushes, at midnight, she still did not feel weary. From the top of a hill she looked back. She could still see the tower of the castle of HidvÁr in the valley, but it looked blue through the mist in the distance and then she hastened down into the valley whose steep overhanging sides hid her even from the moonlight.

The night was noiseless, the forest dark. Now and again a humming night beetle circled round and round her and obstinately pursued her as if he also was a spy sent after her. The poor thing's heart throbbed violently. What if she had lost her way? What if she fell into the hands of the robbers whom they were now actually pursuing through the woods? Yet still greater was her terror of HidvÁr and a hundred times more homelike was the dreadful forest with its giant trees speaking in their sleep than the tapestried walls of the Castle of HidvÁr.

Suddenly a glade opened up before her which seemed to greet her as an old acquaintance.

Yes, indeed, there were the wild roses which she had so often plucked to adorn her hat. The hunting-box could not be far off now. It conceals itself to the right of the rose bushes beneath a lofty birch.

A few moments later she found herself outside its door.

As she laid her hand on the latch, a thought of terror transfixed her. What if the door should be shut?

But she had only to press the latch in order to put all her fears to flight. The door this time also was not fastened.

Standing on the threshold she enquired with a trembling voice: "Is anybody in?"

No answer.

Then she closed the door behind her and opened the door of the second room. There also nobody responded to her enquiry. The third room was also open as usual, nay even one of its windows was opened towards the orchard. Moreover, everything was in its proper place just as she had always found it—the weapons, the bear skin coverlet and the water pitcher.

It occurred to Henrietta to close the door from the inside so that nobody might come upon her unawares while she slept. But then the thought also struck her that it was not right to lock the old gentleman out of his own house especially as he might turn up in the early morning tired out and half frozen. So she ultimately decided to stay up for him in order to tell him, as soon as he arrived, that she meant to obtain a separation from her husband, whose conduct she could no longer endure. Till then she would try hard not to go to sleep. But she was tired to death from her long run through the forest and was obliged at last to throw herself on the bear skin coverlet to rest; and gradually sleep overcame all her anguish, all her terror.

She might have slept for about a half an hour, a restless, phantom-haunted sleep at best, when she suddenly awoke.

It seemed to her as if she had heard a distant cry. Perhaps she had only imagined she had heard it in her slumbers, and perhaps what she had dreamt was so awful and what she fancied she had heard was so terrible, that it had awakened her.

She began to listen attentively. After midnight every light sound seems so loud.

She fancied in the great stillness that she could hear rapidly approaching footsteps.

Again a cry! like the cry of a hunted beast, like the cry of a wounded wolf!

She was not dreaming now, she could hear it plainly. She saw where she was. The moonlight was streaming through the window, she could see to the end of all three rooms.

Suddenly at the window overlooking the garden whence the moonbeams streamed in, a black shape appeared which obscured the moonlight for an instant.

This shape leaped through the window and, panting hard, rushed through the two rooms into the third where the arms stood.

Henrietta saw it fly past her bed, she heard its panting sobs and—recognized it.

It was Fatia Negra! this was Fatia Negra's house!

And this was not all.

Close upon the traces of Fatia Negra rushed another phantom with a drawn sword in its hand, but its face was towards her and she recognized in it—Szilard Vamhidy.

And yet she did not lose her consciousness at this double sight of terror, though it would have been much better for her if she had.

Fatia Negra plunged into the armoury and plucked down a pistol from the wall.

Szilard paused on the threshold.

"Halt!" cried Fatia Negra with a voice like a scream—"this is my house and your tomb."

Szilard did not condescend to reply but drew a step nearer.

"Sir, but one word more," said Fatia Negra in a fainter voice and so hoarsely as to be scarcely audible, "you have wounded me, you have run me down; but your life is now in my hands and I could kill you this instant if I had a mind to. Let us bargain a bit: I won't kill you if you will not pursue me any further. You return and say you could not catch me. I swear to you that to-morrow I will send you twenty thousand ducats."

With contemptuous coldness Szilard replied: "Surrender, I will not bargain."

"You won't bargain, you crushed worm you! The mouth of my pistol is on a level with your forehead. I have only to press my finger and your head would be shattered—and yet you dare to have it out with me? Do you want to save your head?"

"I mean to have yours," said Szilard and he drew a step nearer to the adventurer.

"My head, eh? Ha, ha, ha! You would have it would you, and have it here! Take it then!"

At that moment a piercing shriek startled the two deadly antagonists and in the adjoining room a white figure fell prone upon the floor.

The next moment there was a loud report and Fatia Negra fell back lifeless on the bear skin carpet.

At the very moment when he had laughed aloud and cried: "Take it then!" he had suddenly put the mouth of the pistol into his own mouth and fired it off. The heavy charge blew his head to bits, Szilard felt a warm red rain showering down upon him.

So Fatia Negra, after all, did not give up his head, the pistol shot had annihilated it.

And nobody ever knew who Fatia Negra really was.