Read Ebook: Heathen Master Filcsik by Miksz Th K Lm N Loew William N William Noah Translator

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Ebook has 101 lines and 6965 words, and 3 pages

The honorable young Justice now began to use sweet words of persuasion and promise, but they all rebounded from the marble heart just as did the threatening words.

"Why don't your grace," he said, "have me arrested and put me in irons? Then I will have to go along wherever you may wish to take me."

After all, the mighty judge who ruled over all the county, was compelled to return without the bootmaker.

But the judge had not in vain a hoary veteran Michael Suska, for his body servant, who concocted a shrewd plan to attain the end desired.

"Gracious Sir! I know this man Filcsik. He would run after us just as a little pig will run after a sack from which corn is dropping, if--"

"Well, what? speak up!"

"If we would steal his fur cloak. His life and death depend upon that cloak. He is a very peculiar man--"

"Well, then, see to it that his cloak is stolen away!"

The hoary veteran could not be trusted with a better job. Ever since the revolution he had no more important task on hand. Oh, well, in those days--but wherefore speak of his deeds then? No one would believe him now.

In the meantime the sick lady was restless on her couch amidst silken pillows, shuddering whenever she heard the noise of approaching wheels. She half leaned on her arms listening, burying her emaciated hands in her long black hair which flowed down over her white night gown.

She is provided with all that her longing can desire, yet she is the poorest being in the world, for she lacks health, and something else--love.

That love that burned within her for husband is naught to the love that warms the heart, the filial love for parents, and she never felt as cold as now.

Nothing does her any good; the voice of the man whom she loved is painful to her; it were better he were not walking at her side and would leave her to herself; the bed is hard; in vain it is made of silk and soft feathers, in vain do the servants fix it and repeatedly put it in order.

How well would it be if she could lie at home beneath the paternal roof, however poor that home, beside the capacious stove, and she could hear at the open window the voice of the evening bells of Majornok, and if her cold feet were covered with the famous fur cloak of her father.

Of this she spoke, of this she dreamed last night and behold--in the morning, fate had fulfilled her wish, when she awoke, over the beautiful red quilt, there lay spread out her old acquaintance the fur cloak.

And those roses and red tulips which render its collar so pretty, throw their shades over the deathly pale face of Therese. This last enjoyed pleasure is as sweet as long ago the first might have been.

Michael Suska redeemed his promise soon enough and he speculated well. When old Filcsik came home in the night time from the tavern of "The Linen Shirt" he found his house burglariously entered, and his fur cloak gone. The big nail was empty, bereft and bare of its ornament. It was then towards the end of October. The winter stood on the threshold of the season.

Filcsik roamed about in the village with lowering brows, his hat pulled down sullenly over his eyes. He did not drink; he uttered no word. His misfortune completely broke him down. He was afraid to look into the eyes of men, because he feared that from the lips of all would come the malicious question, "What has become of your famous fur cloak?"

But hope did not forsake him. He felt it that the dear treasure would ere long come back to him. It could not be lost; whoever stole it could not use it. The whole county knew it to be his.

And he was not mistaken. The news came that the thieves were caught and the stolen property recovered and was by that time in the hands of the County Judge. Within four days the rightful owner could recover it, or else it would be auctioned off as property found or recovered whose owner could not be identified.

Immediately he started on his way to the castle to reclaim it; he did not hesitate a second, he went to demand his own.

The County Judge made no objections, he admitted that the fur cloak was there and silently beckoned him to follow. Through many bright rooms on the floors of which fine carpets were spread, Filcsik trod with his muddy boots behind the Judge until at last they arrived at a dark room.

"There is your fur cloak," the Judge said with trembling voice and pointed to a corner, "take it!"

The old eyes became but slowly accustomed to the darkness, but he found his way to the corner whence groans and moans came.

The Judge stepped up and withdrew the bed-curtain, Filcsik staggered back.

Therese lay there, pale as a broken stemmed lily, her long black eyelashes closed, her feet covered with the famous tulip embroidered fur cloak.

She was beautiful even though now dying, an angel saying good-bye to this world. Where is she hurrying? To the heaven from which she once came.

It may be that she will never again open those charming eyes of hers, which could glance so archly, or those lips of hers which to kiss was such supreme bliss.

Filcsik stood mute, motionless, as if in thought, but only for a minute; then he boldly stepped up to the dying, and took off that cloak for which she had pined so much. It may be that she would have no use for it any more.

The dying angel did not even move. Filcsik's hand did not even tremble. He did not even cast a last glance on his dying daughter. Mute, without uttering a syllable, he went out as if nothing could pain him.

He did not even turn back when the Judge, as he was crossing the threshold, savagely addressed to him the epithet, "Heathen!"

Outside, he hung his rightful property around his neck, and notwithstanding that it had become dark, he started for home by an unused route. He did not want to meet with men just then. He probably felt that he was no longer a man.

From his face naught could be read; seemingly it was calm. Probably it even expressed some satisfaction on account of the regained fur cloak. Truly there must be a stone in the place of the heart of this man.

When he reached the rivulet at the foot of the Majornok mountain opening, he stumbled over something in the way.

It was a beggar's bag filled with pieces of dry bread. Its owner must have prayed successfully--there was enough of the daily bread there even for tomorrow.

But lo! there lies the owner thereof beneath a tree, a ragged beggar woman, in her lap a child.

He placed the bag at their side and then lit a match to see better whether or not they were dead.

Their heavy breathing revealed that both were alive, mother and child; exhausting fatigue alone could have sent them into such profound slumber. The cold weather, the bitter wind and the ragged dress are not favorable to such sleep. Only they can sleep as these do, who are exhausted. Their faces, especially that of the child, are already blue from cold and the tiny limbs tremble like frozen jelly.

Filcsik took out his pipe from the pocket of his coat, filled and lit it, and then sat down on the ground beside the sleepers.

He looked at them a long time. He could see very well; the sky was full of stars. The stars looked at him and perhaps beckoned to him encouragingly.

All at once he bent lower over the sleepers; his forehead was perspiring, his head was bowed down and the famous fur cloak slipped off his shoulders. It was well, for he was warm anyhow. And then the fur cloak never burdened him as much as now; it had never been as heavy as at present.

When it slipped down, he suddenly picked it up and spread it over the two sleepers.

Then he jumped up and slowly and thoughtfully began to walk towards home. Once he stood still, then retraced his steps. Did he intend to go back for it?

No, no! what would those million eyes looking at him from above say to that!

Now he hurried; he almost ran towards home.

The night was quiet but cold. The old man was without his fur cloak and yet he felt no cold.

One thought warmed him within, in that place where other men have their hearts but where, according to general belief, providence had substituted in him a stone.

Since that time he has had no fur cloak. But for all that he speaks of it as if he still possessed it. He brags of it, he bets on it.

Men know the fact already and were they not afraid of his vituperative proclivities they would laugh at him; as it is, they don't concern themselves about him. God, men, have turned from him because he is a godless, unchristian fellow. If one of these days he dies on a heap of straw, a raven or a crow will act as mourner, the ditch of the churchyard will be his resting place.

Here endeth this Veracious History of "Heathen Master Filcsik" Wherein is evidently shown that no matter howsoever hard a man's heart may be there are times and occasions When, ruled by a Higher Power, he is moved to do a kindly act. Written originally in the Magyar language by K?lm?n Miksz?th, and translated by Wm. N. Loew. Done into Type by me, Charles Clinch Chubb, Clerk in Holy Orders, and one hundred Copies printed at our Press in the Parish of Grace Church, Cleveland, Ohio this seventeenth day of March, in the year of our Lord, mcmx.

Number 52

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