’Midst the Wild Carpathians quotes

Whole swarms of waterfowl then mount into the air, whose rueful, monotonous croaking is only broken by the melancholy piping of the bittern and the whistle of the green turtle.

The swan, too, raises her voice and sings that melodious lay which now, they tell us, is only to be heard in fairyland⁠—for here man has never yet trod, the place is still God’s.

Now and again, indeed, sportsmen of the bolder sort presume to penetrate far into this pathless labyrinth of bush and brake;

“I don’t know how it is, but I am always suspicious of that man.

He is continually asking questions, but never answers any himself.

”

“We at any rate, my worthy old fellow, will go for it; we have done worse bits than that ere now.

He who follows me will not come to grief; don’t you know that I am Fortune’s favourite?

”

“God grant no such thing!” cried he savagely. “I’m not going to pray for the goggle-eyed dogs now, after fighting against them all my days.

The man who is always trying to change masters is a fool.

”

“And if the whole world were mine,” continued Apafi, “even then I should not be rich enough to requite thy devotion.

I take God to witness, that if I could call a kingdom my own I would give it thee, and think it but a beggarly recompense.

”

“

Send for a doctor if your wife is ill; and recollect that to bring down the wrath of the illustrious Pasha on your head is not the proper way to cure her.

”

“

Grant me but one day, and then I don’t care if I lose my head.

”

“Nay, thou hast not the slightest cause to be amazed thereat.

The Padishah has but to nod, and pashas and princes become slaves, beggars, or corpses. He nods again, and beggars and slaves rise up into their places.

Thou art highly favoured, for thou hast found grace before him. Use it discreetly then, but beware of abusing it!”

“What! is there not the church?” interrupted the Pasha. “

If that house be sufficiently fine for the honour of God, I suppose it will do to honour men in!

”

“

Plague take all your whereases and inasmuch-ases! Why all this beating about the bush?

Write the usual formula—‘We, Michael Apafi, Prince of Transylvania, command you, wretched slaves, by these presents, to appear incontinently before us at Kis-Selyk, under pain of death.’ ”

Nay, brother, don’t look so serious; I was but in jest!”

But does not the proverb say that there is many a true word spoken in jest?

… adorned with flowers on a silver salver, and representing the tower of Babel, now a large porcelain bowl exhaling the spicy fragrance of hot punch, or a peacock on a large wooden platter, roasted whole, with his gorgeous headdress and splendid tail still upon him.

The head cook is scarcely able to force his way through the gaping mob of petitioners assembled here, who must wait till the Prince has dined, and are regaled in the meantime with wine, roast meats, and pastry, getting in short everything but what they came for⁠—justice.

Within the dining-room itself the gentlemen and ladies are by this time in a merry mood. The meal has already lasted a pretty long time, and is likely to last a good while longer.

Nobody had observed it, however, save him whom it most concerned—the husband. Beldi’s eyes had seen it.

Oh! you must not imagine that an uxorious husband is never jealous. Even though he makes as though he hears and sees nothing, he sees and hears and observes all the same.

He had seen Banfi kiss his wife, although he feigned not to perceive his consort’s confusion as, excited and indignant, she went in search of him. He took her by the hand and led her out of the room.

“Oh, what a little darling!” cried Lady Beldi, quite enchanted, and covering the rosy-cheeked child with kisses.

If only she had known that this child was a child no longer, but a general!

“And I’ve got children too!” continued Lady Beldi, with maternal emulation. “You shall see them! Does your son speak Hungarian?”

“Certainly not.

He believes that every religion is good, as leading to heaven, but that his own faith is the best, as opening the gate of the very highest heaven.

Moreover, my husband has a very good heart, and is much more enlightened than most of his fellows.”

“You are right, my good Catharine! ’Tis our prejudices that prevent us from rising higher than everyday thoughts. It is true.

Love also has her faith, her religion.

But how about your country? Have you never thought of that?”

“You are right, my good Catharine!

’Tis our prejudices that prevent us from rising higher than everyday thoughts.

It is true. Love also has her faith, her religion. But how about your country? Have you never thought of that?”

and that if they rushed out at one door, the enemy would rush in at the other, and then there would be neither outside nor inside—and much more to the same effect.

But whoever fancies he can drive out of a Szekler’s head what he has once got into it is mightily mistaken.

“Either you must let us march against the foe or home we go!” cried they. “We don’t mean to lie here for the next ten years like the Trojans, for there’s work to be done at home.

“I am an old soldier. I have knocked about in all manner of campaigns; I know the value of numbers in war, but also the value of position, and well understand how to weigh the one against the other.

I have learnt by experience that one hundred men under favourable conditions are often more than a match for a thousand.

I also know how enthusiasm or indifference can multiply or diminish numbers. I can also calculate the relative importance of the various kinds of arms; nor is the military value of patriotism an unknown quantity to me.

I have learnt by experience that one hundred men under favourable conditions are often more than a match for a thousand.

I also know how enthusiasm or indifference can multiply or diminish numbers.

I can also calculate the relative importance of the various kinds of arms; nor is the military value of patriotism an unknown quantity to me. Now we have ten thousand men, and there are not more than three thousand opposed to us.

“Mr. General, leave all that till the afternoon.

After dinner we shall see everything in quite another light.

”

“No, not after dinner,” blustered the German. “No time is to be lost.

We are in the midst of war, where every hour is precious; not at a Diet, where matters may be debated for years together.

”

“Why should I?” cried he. “

Do you suppose that the heart beats more courageously behind a coat of mail?

”

“But pray don’t on that account make them the highest personages in the land.

Simple, ignorant men in responsible positions are far more dangerous to a state than open but enlightened foes.

Reward them by all means, but only in proportion to their abilities.”

“The sceptre is no plaything, Apafi,” said she earnestly. “Never forget that posterity will sit in judgment on princes.

A ruler’s every act and word may mean the ruin or the salvation of thousands.

Think of that in all you do and say. And now, God be with you. Be firm!”

“The sceptre is no plaything, Apafi,” said she earnestly. “

Never forget that posterity will sit in judgment on princes.

A ruler’s every act and word may mean the ruin or the salvation of thousands. Think of that in all you do and say. And now, God be with you. Be firm!”

And before us the mountains still rise higher and higher.

One feels tempted to scale these fresh giants also, in order to find out whether there is really any end to them.

Now too even the Rima has forsaken us. Deep down below, we perceive a round, dark-blue lakelet, enclosed on all sides by steep rocks, on the mirror-like surface of which white swans are bathing beneath the shadows of the pines dependent over the water’s edge.

such burning glances are only to be found beneath southern skies, whose summer is as glowing, as languishing, as parching as the eyes of this girl. An eternal desire burns in those eyes, unspeakable, unappeasable, which enjoyment feeds without satisfying.

If you gave her a world she would instantly demand another.

Even when every sense is sated with bliss and rapture, her heart remains empty, and yearns after the unattainable. Those who love her, she hates; those who hate her, she loves. Die for her, and she will mock you;

If you gave her a world she would instantly demand another. Even when every sense is sated with bliss and rapture, her heart remains empty, and yearns after the unattainable. Those who love her, she hates; those who hate her, she loves.

Die for her, and she will mock you; kill her, and she will adore you.

Her oval face is as pale as though the burning rays of her eyes had burnt up all its roses;

What more dost thou desire? Wouldst thou bathe in ambergris? Or dost thou desire for supper the hearts of my favourite odalisques?’ The lion roared and made answer, ‘

My cage, though it be of gold, is still a cage; these palm-trees are not the groves of Nubia, and this basin is not the springs of the desert of Berzendar.

I want neither thy perfumes nor thy spices, nor the throbbing hearts of thy slaves. Give me back the free air of the desert, there will I speedily find again my good-humour!’ ”

The Beg stares around him in terror. A tempest is raging outside. The weathercocks creak and rattle. The wind tears the tiles from the summits of the minarets, and hurls them on to the cupolas of the kiosk.

The lightning flashes, and the thunder teaches the rocks to tremble.

“Dost thou hear how they howl, those invisible beings, and rattle at the barred and bolted windows with a mighty hand?”

“Nay, but thou must go also. Gird on thy kaftan quickly. Leave thy weapons here.

Spirits fear not sharp steel.

We will descend into the churchyard beneath the fortress walls; kindle ambergris and borax on a tripod; hurl the magic wand into the nearest grave, and so compel the dwellers therein to appear before thee.

From time to time the rumbling of the storm is still heard faintly in the distance. Sheet-lightning flickers above the mountain crests, painting everything white for an instant.

The lightning, like the night, can only give one colour to this region⁠—the one paints it white, the other black.

The nightly shapes reach the churchyard by the secret path and dismount among the graves.

“In the name of St. Michael and all the Archangels I implore you, sir, not to go,” interrupted the priest. “

Of all who have visited the Devil’s Garden, not one has ever been known to come back.

A truly devout person would turn his back upon it. It is only this man’s sinfulness that has led him thither.”

… in a cave, never coming to light, but soaking all the circumambient soil through and through, and it is because these warm waters possess a flora of their own that these unknown shrubs and flowers are forever blooming in the neighbourhood of the vivifying element.

The whole thing is a splendid open-air orangery in the midst of snowstorms and icebergs.

Sange Moarte beckoned to his comrades to follow him. A feverish impatience possessed him, and when he had advanced a few steps into the cavern, he pointed with trembling hand at a dark recess, in which an iron door was visible.

A golden age is dawning upon us. The whole world is fighting and bleeding, we alone possess peace; in our land alone is the Magyar independent and his own master.

True, ours is not a very large realm, but at any rate ’tis our own.

We may be a very little people, but we recognize no greater anywhere. Now there are persons who would destroy this golden age.

A golden age is dawning upon us. The whole world is fighting and bleeding, we alone possess peace; in our land alone is the Magyar independent and his own master. True, ours is not a very large realm, but at any rate ’tis our own.

We may be a very little people, but we recognize no greater anywhere.

Now there are persons who would destroy this golden age. There are persons who do not care what an imprudently begun war may cost the country, provided their ambition, provided their greed is gratified thereby;

“

Because your Reverence has right on your side, it by no means follows that you will get justice.

”

“And we have not surrendered it. Quite right.

A genuine nobleman never sells property which he has purchased with his blood.

It belongs to me, and within my four walls neither Prince nor Diet has the right to command. No, nor you either, my Lord-General.”

“Look at that passionflower, how withered it is, and yet it is planted in a porcelain vase, and I water it every day with distilled water. But once I forgot to draw up the blinds, and now look how the poor thing has faded.

It wants nothing⁠—but sunshine.

”

“What do I want?” repeated Lady Banfi, and leaning on her husband’s neck, she burst forth sobbing. “

I want my sunshine⁠—your love.

”

“You are mistaken,” cried Banfi, springing hastily from his chair. “I was alluding to the commonweal,” and he began to pace angrily up and down the room.

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;

“

Then hate me rather than forget me!

” cried the lady with a sudden outburst, which she instantly regretted.

Let us rend our hearts asunder. Better do it now while they will still bleed from the rupture than wait till they drop away of their own accord.

Let us rather part while we still love one another, than wait till we have learned to hate.

”

when he throws off his habitual circumspectness and becomes wildly reckless. And this condition—I blush to confess it—is drunkenness. I do not bring it against him as an accusation.

He whom we love has no fault in our eyes.

”

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 everyone a soldier, and that even scythes and axes are good weapons in resolute hands.

At this spectacle Banfi’s features grew flaming red. He fancied he saw a white female form on the pinnacle of the tower, immediately gave his horse the spur, and rushed forward like a whirlwind, crying to his horsemen—

“It may, or it may not be so.

Where death is certain, a man cares not what he risks.

If I can speak to Banfi this evening, you may be able to escape the same night. If I succeed, well. If not, we shall be no worse off than we are now.”

He felt that he had wounded Banfi in a sore place, but he also felt that the wound was not mortal. The great nobleman had been affronted rather than humbled. So much the worse for him!

What will not bend must be broken.

It is the fate of many a town, as of many a nation, to rise from the dead.

One people perishes there. The walls fall to pieces. The name of the town passes into oblivion. And again there comes another people, which builds upon the ruins, gives the place a new name;

Zrinyi has perished. Rakoczi has deserted it. Teleki knows how to overthrow but not how to create parties. Besides, he is no warrior, and it is a warrior that they want.

He represents cold reason, and here there is need of a soul of fire.

He has no mission to fight for Hungary, but only a political interest. One of the Hungarian magnates, that moustacheless youth yonder, Emerich Tököli, has lately sued for his daughter’s hand in order to engage the father in his interests. Mark my words.

And when all around us we hear the din of battle, when everyone grasps the sword, shall we alone leave ours in its scabbard, we who owe so much to our brethren and to ourselves?

What happened to them yesterday may happen to us tomorrow, and what country will then offer us a refuge?

Therefore, my fellow-patriots, hearken to the prayers of the banished as if you stood in their places; for I tell you, that a time may come when you will be as they are now;

None of us has inherited the genius of a Bethlen or of a Bocskai; neither I, nor Master Teleki. And then again, whom can we trust besides ourselves? The capricious Louis XIV perhaps?

His policy can be changed every moment by a pair of bright eyes.

If we depended only on him, a petty Versailles intrigue might leave us in the lurch when we most required assistance.”

Now the question before us is really this: 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.

In any case Hungary’s fate is bound to improve, and that fate touches my heart quite as much as theirs who fancy they can heal the sick man with the sword. But nothing is to be won in that way.

How much blood has not already been shed without the slightest result?

Let us try some other way. Surely the Magyar has sense enough to subdue by his intellectual superiority those whom he cannot overcome by force of arms? Subdue your conquerors, I say.

How much blood has not already been shed without the slightest result? Let us try some other way. Surely the Magyar has sense enough to subdue by his intellectual superiority those whom he cannot overcome by force of arms?

Subdue your conquerors, I say.

You who are second to none in sense, energy, wealth, and the beauty of manliness, why do you not take the highest posts which belong to you of right?

But I say, let my child weep, let her perish, may I also perish with my whole family if need be, but let not the curse of war fall on Transylvania!

May no one in Transylvania have cause to weep because I suffer.

No! I would declare against war though everyone here present were for it. … Gentlemen! … this seal … and the other relic too … forget not to preserve them among your trophies!”

and here he was in his proper place, for the chronicles tell us that a skin of wine at a sitting was a mere nothing to his Highness.

Wine inflames hate as well as love.

When ladies are at table, we must look to our hearts; but when only men sit down together, our heads are often in danger.

The gentlemen were in high good-humour, and kept falling out with each other and making it up again from sheer lightness of heart. Only one man was quite sober—Michael Teleki, who never drank at all.

Beware of the man who keeps sober while everyone else is in his cups.

Teleki went about among the wrangling roysterers, and lingered for a long time round Banfi’s chair. When the magnate caught sight of him, creeping about like a cat, he turned sharply round upon him.

“I know why you conceal your hatred. You fancy that no one knows your secret reasons for it.

My friend, we men know well that a sword-thrust may be forgiven, but a kiss never.

”

Paul Beldi went straight from Fehervár to Bodola: all the way he was tortured by the thought which Teleki’s words had revived.

In itself, a kiss is a very harmless thing. But what if another knows of it or has perceived it?

Then indeed it becomes the pole of our suspicion, round which the mind weaves a whole pandemonium of doubts and guesses. We begin to think what might have led up to it, and what it may lead to.

“My brother, I know not what this letter contains, but I can guess your thoughts from your face.

My father used to say that a letter written in wrath should never be sent off the same day, but should be put under one’s pillow and slept upon.

The advice is not bad; follow it, and send off the letter tomorrow morning, for, to be candid with you, I won’t send it tonight.”

“I have already sent it—up the chimney,” replied Beldi, smiling, and set out on his journey with feelings very different from those with which he had started.

So you see a man can be drunk without wine!

While still some distance from Bodola, he could see all the members of his family looking out for him on the castle terrace, and no sooner did they perceive his carriage, than they hastened down to greet him.

In her heart, too, many traitorous thoughts pleaded for her husband; wounded pride, that unbending judge, was already beginning to waver.

In a noble breast it is not hate but grief that takes the place of love.

Banfi drew nearer to his wife, seized her hand, and pressed it in his own. He felt that her hand trembled, but he also felt that it did not return his pressure.

A single unlocked door separates her from him.

They are only a few steps apart. How small the distance, and yet how great!

She can hear him sighing. He too cannot sleep while he is so near to her whom he has so deeply wounded. What bliss it would be to traverse those few steps, to nestle side by side, to gratify each other’s longings!

What bliss it would be to traverse those few steps, to nestle side by side, to gratify each other’s longings! But reconciliation is impossible; her heart yearns after it and recoils from it, loves and loathes at the same moment.

Oh! why can we not forget the Past? Why is it impossible to prevent Grief from grieving?

The lady fell a-thinking, a-dreaming.

This was the signal for a general devastation.

The mania for destruction is contagious. It needs but one to begin it, and the mob, as if rejoicing at the sight, is never so ready as when there is something to be pulled, torn, or smashed to bits.

In an instant every piece of furniture was broken up and every bit of tapestry torn down. Splendid costumes, costly, fur-trimmed pelisses, gala-mantles—everything was torn to pieces.

They pulled up the fragrant jasmines by the roots to make posies of them, and cut up into neckties the delicate tapestries which Lady Banfi had worked with her own hands.

Stealing gave the Szeklers no pleasure, it was destruction for its own sake that they found so delightful.

Thus they threw to the ground a rare and costly clock which needed winding only once a year, broke it up, distributed the wheels and chains as buckles for their shoes, and melted the silver keys into bullets, which they fired off into the air.

The fragments of the broken furniture they piled up on the hearth, and made a great fire of the priceless ebony, mahogany, and palisander woods.

The conflagration of a whole village would not have been half so costly.

Over this fire they hung, on a silver chain, a Corinthian amphora of exquisite workmanship by way of a kettle, filled it with finely-chopped mutton, and sent Firi Firtos out for beans, salt, and onions.

a mere nod, a token of ill-will. He stopped to speak to everyone, even to very slight acquaintances, even to those whom he had hitherto looked down upon or had never regarded at all. He even condescended to question them.

In the hour of misfortune it is wonderful how a man recollects all his acquaintances. At such a time he who once haughtily rejected the hand of friendship is ready to meet his very enemy halfway.

Suddenly he perceived an open carriage coming towards him from Torda, and in it sat a man wrapped up in a grey cloak, in whom, as he passed, Banfi recognized Martin Kuncz, the Unitarian bishop; he called to him to stop for a moment.

His horse carried him whither it would. The magnate sat upon it with a darkened face, staring blankly at the clouds or on the ground.

The earth, the sky, and his own heart⁠—everything within him and around him was dark and desolate.

Hitherto his soul had been so full of pride that there was no room for anything else, and now all his pride was gone, and had left a hideous blank behind it. On, on he went; but it was his horse that chose the road.

And yet, why not?

She is a whole world, a hell, to herself.

Within the resounding walls of the populous harem she felt herself lonely, and she peoples this vast vault with the creations of her own wild fancy.

“I have been waiting for thee!” cried the girl, burying her head in Banfi’s bosom, while he played involuntarily with her rich tresses. “

To me thy absence is an eternity, thy presence but a fleeting moment.

”

“

If thou hast joy, share it with thy beloved, and thou wilt have so much the more. If thou hast grief, share it with thy beloved, and thou wilt have so much the less.

”

“

If choice were thine, which wouldst thou choose⁠—love with hell, or heaven without love?

”

“

The fallen has no faithful friends.

”