Mór Jókai

“ Behold the King of France, at this moment the mightiest ruler in Europe, raising troops for us, not only in his own land, but in Poland also; and, if necessary, the Sultan certainly will not scruple to break a peace that was forced upon him; or he will, at the very least, place his frontier troops at our disposal. And when all around us we hear the din of battle, when every one grasps the sword, shall we alone leave ours in its scabbard, we who owe so much to our brethren and to ourselves? ”

“ Lady Banfi uttered a piercing shriek. Her sister whispered in her ear—
"Be strong! Now is the time to show what you are made of."
Banfi furiously bit his lips, but controlled himself with a mighty effort, and answered calmly—
"That is not true, sir! That I deny!"
"What! Not true! There are people who have seen her."
"Who?"
"Clement, the Patrol-officer."
"Clement the poet? Ah! We all know that lying is the masterpiece of poets."
"Very well, my lord baron. As you deny everything, I will try to get to the bottom of the matter myself. ”

“ It seemed to him as if her eyes were brighter, her features more enchanting, her lips sweeter than ever they had been.
"What a fool a man is, to be sure," thought Beldi, "who, when his wife is out of sight, is capable of supposing everything bad of her, and when she stands before his eyes cannot make too much of her."
In the abandonment of his joy he did not at first perceive that there was a strange face in the family circle—a handsome, stately young Turk, with frank and noble features, not unlike an Hungarian. ”

“ So Dame Beldi rushed wildly into the room, sank down at her husband's feet, convulsively clasped his knees, and cried in a voice of passionate remonstrance—
"Sweet lord of my heart! I adjure you not to believe in that man. Don't be led away. He would bring down innocent blood upon your head. You are too just and merciful to become a headsman."
"Get up, woman! You are mad!"
"Oh! I know what I'm saying. I saw him kneel to you. He who believes in God, kneels not to man. He would ruin Denis Banfi through you. ”

“ Forward, comrades! Take these gentlemen's horses by the bridles, and follow me with them to Bonczhida. If any one stands upon ceremony, tie his legs to the stirrups."
"I protest against this compulsion," cried Csaky furiously. "I take you all to witness that I enter my protest against this act of violence."
"I for my part call every one to witness," repeated Banfi, laughing, "that I've invited these gentlemen to a banquet in the most friendly manner in the world."
"I protest! 'Tis violence."
"Nonsense! 'Tis a merry jest. 'Tis Hungarian hospitality!" ”

“ Our hero had scarcely advanced four or five hundred paces into the thicket when, at the foot of a mighty oak, he came upon the wild beast he sought. It was a gigantic boar, with span-long, glistening black bristles on its back and forehead; the tough hide lay, like plated armour, in thick folds about its huge neck; its feet were long and sinewy. Lazily grunting, it was making for itself a bed beneath the bushes in which its shapeless body was stretched out at full length, and it had found a place for its enormous head by rooting out with its tusks bushes as thick as a man's arm. ”

“ First to Bonczhida and then to Fehervár."
"What do you say?" said Banfi, with a start. "What is it?"
"I say that if the law of the sword is to try you, the sword must also be your defence."
"And such a process is generally called civil war!"
"We have not kindled it."
"Nor will we fan it. 'Tis no longer, I see, a struggle against my personal enemies, but against the Prince, and he is the head of the land."
"And are not you its right arm? If they choose to light up the flames of civil war, we will not allow it to be quenched in your blood." ”

“ Banfi's wife with a beating heart heard his familiar footsteps drawing nearer.
There she sits behind the fragrant jasmines and the quivering mimosas, herself as pale as the jasmine flowers and as tremulous as the mimosas.
Around her is nothing but pomp and splendour. On the walls hang cut Venetian mirrors in gold frames, portraits of kings and princes, the handsomest among which is John Kemeny's, painted while he still held with the Turk and wore close-cropped hair and a long beard in the Turkish fashion, so much affected by the magnates of those days. ”

“ Her blood be upon her own head!" they roared, with bestial rage.
"Kill me! Death will be welcome to me!" cried Margaret, kneeling down before them. "To die for him was my only wish. God be with me!"
"Be off with you!" cried Kornis, suddenly intervening, beating down the weapons of the Szeklers with his sword, and covering the kneeling lady with his body. "Shame on you! Would you kill a woman? Ye are worse than the Pagan Tartars. If you've let Banfi escape, run after him."
"We'll kill her! We'll kill her!" bellowed the Szeklers, and again they attempted to tear Kornis away from the lady. ”

“ Impelled by love, Corsar Beg is hastening towards his earthly paradise. The turning of a key is audible in the golden door. Azrael laughs aloud, and rocks herself still more swiftly in her bright-winged hammock.
The shadows of night have descended. Every living thing sleeps soundly. Love alone is wakeful.
"Oh, I fear me! I fear me!" whispers Azrael, clinging still more closely to the breast of the wild Moorish horseman.
"Why dost thou tremble? I am here," and he embraces her slim waist.
"Hamaliel hath brought me evil dreams," returns the odalisk. ”

“ The bald-pate drew nearer to the cavalier trotting by his side, who was balancing his spear in one hand as if to test it, and said to him in a low tone, as if continuing a conversation already begun—
"So you will not interfere in the matter?"
"Pray don't trouble me with politics now," replied the other, with a gesture of angry impatience. "You cannot live a day without planning or plotting; but pray spare me for to-day! I want to hunt now, and you know how passionately I love the chase."
With these words he gave his horse the spur, galloped forward, and caught up the herculean horseman. ”

“ When a husband takes umbrage at such jests, it is a sure sign that he feels himself hit.
At last Banfi unknitted his bushy brows and stood stock still before his trembling wife, who, ever since her husband entered the room, had been the prey of the most conflicting emotions; joy and grief, fear and rage, love and jealousy, still struggled for the mastery in her agitated breast.
"Margaret," he began, in an unsteady voice, "Margaret, you are jealous, and jealousy is the first step towards hatred." ”

“ When the peace of my family is at stake, I think 'tis time for me to speak. I beg, I implore you to hear me. I'll not allow you to sacrifice Banfi."
Beldi was already so ashamed of this onslaught on his marital authority that he was nearly beside himself; but when his wife began to plead for Banfi, he started back as if an adder had bitten him.
This did not escape Teleki, and with malicious innuendo he exclaimed—
"It seems to me that wives forget some things much sooner than their husbands."
Quick as lightning the dart pierced through Beldi's soul. ”

“ Then the Pasha, placing himself at the head of his host, waved his naked sword for the trumpets to blow, and glancing once more along the lines, saw the Moorish troops who stood behind him, with melon-shaped, copper-plated helmets, making ready to fire their long muskets.
"What are you doing?" growled the Pasha. "Away with your muskets! The enemy has more of them than we. We shall only need our swords. Let every one charge boldly upon the foe, ducking his head down over his saddle-bow the moment I give the signal, and then gallop forward without hesitation!" ”

“ Both form and face rather demand our homage than our love. A smile rarely rests on those features; the glance of her large, dark, sea-deep eyes rests from time to time upon the youth who is bending over her, and then there beams from them such witchery, such tenderness—yet all the while her face is without a smile. A loftier, nobler longing is then visible on her face, a longing deeper than love, higher than the desire of fame—perhaps it is that self-consciousness of great souls who foresee that their names will be an eternal remembrance. ”

“ Are we to stake the existence of Transylvania for the sake of Hungary? Are we to shed our blood for the sake of raising her from the dead? Listen not to your hearts, they can only feel—'tis the head that thinks. Just now there is peace in Transylvania. The people are beginning to be happy; the towns are rising from their ashes; the mourning weeds are gradually being laid aside, and ears of corn are ripening on fields of blood. At present the Magyar is his own master in Transylvania. ”

“ She grasped at once the tremendous significance of the moment, and when Daczo, gnashing his teeth, again asked her where Banfi was, she bounded from her chair, ran to the door which separated her husband's chamber from her own, turned the key quickly round, and screamed with all her might—
"Banfi! Save yourself! They seek your life!"
Daczo ran forward to stop her mouth and snatch the key from her; but with singular presence of mind Lady Banfi had, in the meantime, thrown the key into the heart of the red-hot embers, and cried again—
"Fly, Banfi! Your enemies are here!" ”

“ They have smashed to pieces everything in the rooms, torn the carpets to shreds, divided among them the curiosities, flooded the cellars with wine, and even made away with the horses."
"It does not matter," replied the magnate hoarsely. What cared he at that moment for his costliest treasures, his wine, his horses?
"They have done still worse, my lord. They forced their way into her ladyship's bedroom, set up the bust of her ladyship as a target, and mutilated it horribly amidst peals of laughter."
"What! My wife's bust?" cried Banfi, putting his hand to his sword. ”

“ Thank thy God that thou diest by my hand!" and with that he swept his sword backwards, and dealt a tremendous blow at Banfi's head.
The Baron, with the utmost sangfroid, brought his sword in front of his face, and at the very moment when Kariassar let fly at him, made with lightning-like swiftness a dextrous lunge at the Moor's fist—it was what fencers call an inner cut—striking off Kariassar's four fingers, so that the heavy scimitar fell clashing out of the fingerless hand.
The black's face grew pale from rage and pain. ”

“ Even the church and castle were roofless, and the Turkish host could be seen swarming round them by the light of the conflagration, whilst from the battlements a fiery rain of sulphur and pitch, occasionally intermingled with heavy beams, poured down upon the besiegers, and drove them back from the walls.
Ali Pasha had not waited for his artillery,—it had stuck fast in the wretched roads,—imagining that he could easily storm a place defended only by women and peasants. But it is notorious that despair makes every one a soldier, and that even scythes and axes are good weapons in resolute hands. ”