Verhovayak Lapja, 1937. július-december (20. évfolyam, 27-53. szám)
1937-07-29 / 31. szám
PAGE 12. July 29, 1937 Tfo-e author of this story, Coleman Mikszáth, (Mikszáth Kálmán) was one of the most distinguished Hungarian fiction writers of the nineteenth century (he died in 19!®). He came from Upper Hungary, and the scenes and figures of his novels and sketches were mostly taken-from the half Hungarian, half Slovak society of the small town bourgeoisie and landed gentry. It is the relative prosperity and social security of the end of the century, the tranquil, untroubled political waters of the Hungary of the Dual Monarchy^ that we find reflected in his works. The First Visit I am on good terms with all my relatives (it is a great tiling to be ‘‘connected’) but the ones I always loved to stay with most, although they \vere only distant cousins, were the Paul Kovács’ in the Alföld. They had a pleasant, well-run house whose many amenities included three daughtres, one prettier than the other and well-dowered as well. It chanced that one of my visits coincided with that of a suitor — a goodlooking, well-sctnip, fair-haired youngster with a name — it was Charles Boróth — which . proclaimed hint of good county stock. He had all the endearing accomplishments of his class — was a good rider, good drinker, and played a good hand at cards, and he made no secret of the fact that he hobnobbed with all the aristocrats in the land. For four or five days he flirted indiscriminately with all three girls; then he took his courage in both hands and proposed for the hand of the eldest, Milly. “Well, my boy,” said her father when he asked him, — “I can see that you are attracted to each other, and I know you to he of good fatuity; on the w hole I have' no objection of your marrying my girk but first . . .” “Yes, Sir,” the youth hastened to reply — ‘‘anything you wish . . “It is my duty as her father to inquire where you intend to take your future wife.” And he added, because it is unbecoming in ] Lungary to pry too closely into financial matters, "I should not like to lose her altogether, you see.” “i arn afraid my place is pretty far from here. It’s called Gerely, and it is in the neighborhood of Kassa.” “Dear, dear, that’s a long wav off,” groaned Mr. Kovács, more for form’s sake than from any real conviction, — “none of my family has ever adventured so far.” lie rubbed his head reflectively. “It's no joke for a THE FAMILY NEST By—Coloman Mikszáth .. Verhovay Journal ------tender young thing to have to fly so far from the parental nest. But we’ll see, we’ll see. What did you say your place was called?” “In case I should ever happen to he in the neighborhood, you understand. As a matter of fact I have some business in Kassa at this very moment.” “You couldn’t give me greater pleasure, Sir, than by dropping in unannounced.” “I’m not at all sure I shan’t take you at your word, provided I can get away from the farm.” But why spin out the stereotyped conversation which from time immemorial has been the accepted formula among the Hungarian gentry for tactfully ascertaining such facts as they need to know about each others’ financial situation. The conversation is always the same — only the Millys and Charleses vary. Needless to say, the farm proved no impediment, and it was not long before Cousin Patti and I — he insisted on my accompanying hint — set out to find Charles' countryseat, Gerely. The train took us as far as Kassa, but after that things became more difficult, and| Cousin Paul got more and i more flustered as one driver after another disclaimed all knowledge of the estate we sought. There was no such place in the district, they ANNA OCZEAK Oczeak N. Anna, one of our Verhovay members, graduated from Cliffside Park High School on June 18, 1937. with high honors and won the 1928 Scholarship Cup of the School. She had the highest average in marks for the four years of High School among 217 students. \ We send our sincere congratulation to Oczeak Anna and her happy parents, Mr. and Mrs. Frank I Oczeak. i said. Or if there was, it could not be a gentleman’s country seat. Cousin Paul looked at me darkly. “What do you think?” he asked. 1 shrugged my shoulders. To tell the truth, I knew not wrhat to think. “Have you ever heard of amiable imposters?” he asked. “Have I not? This is their native heath, Cousin Paul.” “Well, well, this is a pretty kettle of fish. But somehow 1 can’t believe that he meant to deceive us. He had such an honest face.” At last we found a cabman who remembered having seen, on the right-hand side of the highroad towards Uszola, a sign with a pointing hand on it (verily the hand of Providence) and the inscription “This way to Gerely.” We lost no time in engaging him. His name was Peter Lengyel and he proved a garriduos fellow who knew every- house in the villages u-e passed and had some amusing story to tell about the inhabitants of each. ' “Behind that weed-grown porch lives Mr. Louis Zsaratnoky — a great gentleman in his day, and rich! Twice a w eek regular he had the Kassa gypsy-band out to play for him. Now he says he has grown deaf and can’t hear a note. Yet all that’s the matter with him, as ereryone knows, it that he’s run through his money and his credit.” Somewhat further on we passed a handsome house w hose walls were smothered in Virginia creeper. “That’s Mr. John Csapody’s house. They’re just harnessing the horses in the yard. Poor things, look at their dropping ears! You should have seen the prancing thoroughbreds they had here ten years ago. Now they have to be content with array horses hired out just for their keep . . .” In Kérfalva his comment was: “That’s another place where the juniper bushes have swamped the patent of nobility.” At last, when the sombre pictured he painted for us of the state of the country-side seemed complete, we came to the sign-post which said ‘‘This way to Gerely” and obeying its injunction turned into the track on our right. Cousin Paul s anxiety as to what we should find at the end of our journev grew from minute to minute, all the morp since the steepness of the road compelled the horses to walk. Yet the scene around us, had he been in the mood to notice it, was not without charm. Mighty oak trees and silver-skinned birches cast their shadows over us as we advanced and the thicket around us throbbed with myriad birdcalls. On a barren hillock to our right rose the grey pile of some ancient building now in ruins; roses, run wild, glowed in red profusion everywhere; while down in the valley a derelict mill stood dejectedly, its wheel motionless for want of water to^-drive it. It seemd a strange thing that a mill should have been abondoned by the stream that fed it. “Look there!” cried Cousin Paul all of a sudden. As we turned the corner by the brick-kiln the valley opened out and there stood displayed to our view a redroofed country mansion with two bulbous towers at each end and nine smiling windows framed in green shutters. 'Ihe snn bathed its white walls in a golden light, picked out the coat-ofarms which decorated its facade. It was like a castle in a fairy tale. (to be continued)
