t ! m mm iiiip II I HI i !iii 11 i;s 11 '11!! 11 ijilljii ill ill!! ill li i! I li!li!! i!ii il! 11 !lii !!!iiil!i \>yi iiil! i lii! iill iliiliiis iiiii'i ;! 'If! H nimm nilii! i ! i! ni ill! ill lilPllllii!^ mmm-i: iiilliliiiliiiiiii i! i liiiiiiii llili! ill wm lliiil I iiplli ililli inUllililil'H ill ! h I iH iiiili! IH!! - liililliliilii!: m illHlli 11 li till L liiii I GIFT OF M, G. Luck Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/dayofwrathOOjkrich THE DAY OF WRATH WORKS OF MAURUS JOKAI HUNGARIAN EDITION The Day of Wrath Translated from the Hungarian By R. NisBET Bain >^" NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY Copyright, 1900, by . ,.^ McCLURE, PHILIPS & CO. « c « e « ! • • CONTENTS CRAPTBR I. THE BIRD OF ILL-OMEN ••• ... ... II II. THE headsman's FAMILY ... ... l8 III. A CHILDISH MALEFACTOR ... ... ... 44 IV. A DIVINE VISITATION ... ... ... 56 V. THE UNBELOVED SON ... ... ... 62 VI. TWO FAMOUS PiEDAGOGUES ... ... 71 VII. A MAN OF IRON ... ... ... ... 93 VIII. THE POLISH WOMAN ... ... ... 121 IX. THE PLAGUE ... ... ... ... I75 X. A LEADER OF THE PEOPLE ... ... 1 89 XI. THE FIRST SPARK ... ... ... ... 210 XII. IN THE MIDST OF THE FIRE ... ... 236 XIII. THE LEATHER-BELL ... ... ... 250 XIV. THE SENTENCE OF DEATH ... ... 264 XV. OIL UPON THE WATERS ... ... ... 277 XVI. 'tis well that the night IS BLACK ... 29I XVII. THE VOICE OF THE LORD ... ... ... 326 XVIII. THE READY-DUG GRAVES ... ... 336 M41106 PREFACE. "SzomortJ Napok" was written in the darkest days of Maurus J6kai*s life, and reflects the depression of a naturally generous and sanguine nature bowed down, for a time, beneath an almost unendurable load of unmerited misfortune. The story was written shortly after the collapse of the Magyar Revolution of 1848-49, when Hungary lay crushed and bleeding under the heel of triumphant Austria and her Russian ally ; when, deprived of all her ancient political rights and liberties, she had been handed over to the domination of the stranger, and saw her best and noblest sons either voluntary exiles, or suspected rebels under police surveillance. Jokai also was in the category of the proscribed. He had played a conspicuous part in the Revolution; he had served his country with both pen and sword; and, now that the bloody struggle was over, and the last Honved army had surrendered to the Russians, J6kai, disillusioned and broken-hearted, weis left to piece together again as 8 PREFACE. best he might, the shattered fragments of a ruined career. No wonder, then, if to the author of " Szomoni Napok," the whole world seemed out of joint The book itself is, primarily, a tale of suffering, crime, and punishment; but it is also a bitter satire on the crying abuses and anomalies due to the semi-feudal condition of things which had prevailed in Hungary for centiuries, the reformation and correction of which had been the chief mission of the Liberal Party in Hungary to which Jokai belonged. The brutal ignorance of the common people, the criminal neglect of the gentry which made such ignorance possible, the imbecility of mere mob-rule, and the mischievousness of dema- gogic pedantry — these are the objects of the author's satiric lash. As literature, despite the occasional crudities and extravagances of a too exuberant genius that has yet to learn self-restraint, " Szomorii Napok " stands very high. It is animated by a fine, contagious indignation, and its vividly terrible episodes, which appal while they fascinate the reader, seem to be written in characters of blood and fire. The descrip- tions of the plague-stricken land and the conflagra- tion of the headsman's house must be numbered among the finest passages that have ever flowed from J6kai's pea But the mild, idyllic strain, so characteristic of Jokai, who is nothing if not romantic, runs through the sombre and lurid tableau like a bright silver thread, and the denouement, in PREFACE. 9 which all enmities are reconciled, all evil-doers are punished, and Gentleness and Heroism receive their retributive crowns, is a singularly happy one. Moreover, in " Szomoni Napok " will be found some of Jokai's most original characters, notably, the ludicrous, if infinitely mischievous, poHtical crotcheteer, "Numa Pompilius; " the drunken can- tor, Michael Korde, whose grotesque adventure in the dog-kennel is a true Fantasiestiick d la C allot ; the infra-human Mekipiros ; the half -crazy Leather- bell ; and that fine, soldierly type, General Vertessy R. NiSBET Bain. October^ 190a THE DAY OF WRATH. CHAPTER L THE BIRD OF ILL-OMEN. ^^' ^ ' ^ Whoever has traversed the long single street of Hetfalu will have noticed three houses whose exterior plainly shows that nobody dwells in them. The first of these three houses is outside the village on a great green hill, round which the herds of the village peacefully crop the pasture. Only now and then does one or other of these quiet beasts start back when it suddenly comes upKjn a white skeleton, or a bleached bullock-horn, in the thickest patches of the high grass. The house itself has no roof, and the soot with which years of heavy rains have bedaubed the walls, points to the fact that once upon a time the place was burnt out Now, dry white stalks of straw wave upon the mouldering balustrades. The iron supports have been taken out of the windows, on the threshold thorns and thistles grow luxuriantly. There is no trace of a path — perhaps there never was ona 12 THE DAY OF WRATH, The land surrounding this house is full of all sorts of fragrant flowers. The second house stands in the centre of the village, and was the castle of the lord of the manor. It is a dismal wilderness of a place. A stone wall, long since fallen to pieces, separated it at one time from the road. Now only a few fragments of this y/zXl <5liill| ^t^d upright, and the wild jasmine creeps ajil over.it,. cab ting down into the road its poisonous 'dark 'red clieiries. The door lolls against its pillars, it looks as if it had once upon a time been torn from its hinges and tlien left to take care of itself. The house itself, indeed, is intact, only the windows have been taken out and the empty spaces bricked in. Every door, too, has been walled up, boards have been nailed over the ventilators in the floor, the white stone staircase leading up to the hall has been broken off and propped up against the wall, and the same fate has befallen a red marble bench on the ground floor. Here and there the cement has fallen away from the front of the house, and layers of red bricks peep through the gap. In other places large heaps of white stone are piled up in front of the building. In the rear of it, which used to look out upon a garden, it is plain that a good many of the windows have also been built in, and, to obliterate all trace of them, the whole wall has been whitewashed. All roimd jEibout many fruit-trees seem to have been rooted up, and for three years running, the cater- pillar-host has fallen upon the remnant; nobody THE BIRD OF ILL-OMEN. 13 looks after them, and they are left to perish one by one, consumed by yellow mould The third house is a little shanty at the far end of the village, shoved away behind a large ugly granary, with its little yard full of reeds, in the midst of which is a crooked, dilapidated pump. The panes of glass in the lead-encased frames have been frosted over, the marl of the thatched chimney is crumbling away, and the whole of the roof is of a beautiful green, like velvet, due to the luxuriantly spreading moss. It is thirty yeajrs since these three houses were inhabited. In the little hut, on the reed-thatched roof of which the screech-owl now lays its eggs, dwelt thirty years ago, a crazy old woman, they called her Magdolna. She must have been for a long time out of her wits ; some said she had been bom so, others maintained that the roof had fallen right upon her head and injured her brain ; others again affirmed that the marriage of her only daughter with the hangman was the cause of her mental aberration. There were some who even remem- bered the time when this woman was rich and respected, and then suddenly she had become a beggar, and subsequently a crazy beggar. Be that as it may, in those days this old woman exercised a peculiar influence over the superstitious peasantry. A sort of awe-inspiring exaltation seemed to take possession of this creature whenever she stood at the threshold of her hut, within the walls of which 14 THE DAY OF WRATH. she usually remained in a brown study insensible to her surroundings for days together. When, at such times of exaltation, she stepped forth into the street, all the dogs in the village would fall a howling as they are wont to do when the headsman goes his rounds. All who met her timidly shrank aside, for, not infrequently, she would foretell the hours of their death, and cases were known in which her prophesies had come true. She could tell at a single glance which of the young unmarried women did honour to their pdrtds* and which did not She could read in the faces of the children the names of their parents, and she often gave them names very different from the names they bore. The maids and young married women of the village therefore, not imnaturally, trembled before her. She recognised the stolen horse in front of the cart, and shouted to the farmer who drove it : " You stole that, and it will be stolen back again ! " At other times she would sit in the church-door, lay her cratch across the threshold, and wait to see who would dare to step across it Woe then to whomsoever had transgressed any of the command- ments! All through the summer the zigue would plague him, his oxen would die, the tares would choke his corn, his limbs would be racked with pleurisy, or he would be nearly mauled to death in the village tavern. Often she sat for hours at home, among hei • /»((