St. Peter's Umbrella Part 4

"But, my dear Mrs. Sranko, it was raining then, and to-morrow we shall in all probability have splendid weather."

But it was no use arguing with the good woman, for she spoke the dialect of the country better than Father Janos did.

"Raining, was it?" she exclaimed. "Well, all the more reason you should bring it with you to-morrow, your honor; at all events it won't get wet.

And, after all, my poor dear husband was worthy of it; he was no worse than Mrs. Gongoly. Every one honored him, and he did a lot for the Church; why, it was he who five years ago sent for those lovely colored candles we have on the altar; they came all the way from Besztercebanya.

And the white altar-cloth my husband's sister embroidered. So you see we have a right to the red thing."

"But I can't make myself ridiculous by burying some one with an umbrella held over me when the sun is shining. You must give up the idea, Mrs.

Sranko."

Thereupon Mrs. Sranko burst into tears. What had she done to be put to such shame, and to be refused the right to give her husband all the honors due to the dead, and which were a comfort to the living too? What would the villagers say of her? They would say, "Mrs. Sranko did not even give her husband a decent funeral, they only threw him into the grave like a beggar."

"Please do it, your reverence," she begged tearfully, and kept on wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, until one of the corners which had been tied in a knot came unfastened, and out fell a ten-florin note. Mrs.

Sranko picked it up, and put it carefully on the table.

"I'll give this over and above the other sum," she said, "only let us have all the pomp possible, your honor."

At this moment Widow Adamecz rushed in from the kitchen, flourishing an immense wooden spoon in the air.

"Yes, your reverence, Sranko was a good, pious man; not all the gossip you hear about him is true. And even if it were, it would touch Mrs.

Gongoly as much as him, may G.o.d rest her soul. If the holy umbrella was used at her funeral, it can be used at his too. If G.o.d is angry at its having been used for her, He will only be a little more angry at its being used for him; and if He was not angry then, He won't be angry now either."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Widow Adamecz, talking such nonsense. Don't bother me any more with your superst.i.tions. The whole thing is simply ridiculous."

But the two women were not to be put off.

"We know what we know," they said, nodding their heads sagely, "your honor can't deceive us."

And they worried him to such an extent that he was obliged at last to give way, and agreed to bring the red umbrella to Janos Sranko's funeral, but he added as an afterthought, "That is, of course, if the owner does not come for it before then. For it is certain that some one left it here, and if they come for it, I shall be obliged to give it them."

"Well," said Widow Adamecz, "as far as that goes we can sleep in peace, for the one who brought it only walks on our planet once in a thousand years."

n.o.body appeared to claim the umbrella, and so the next day, though it was a lovely afternoon, and not a cloud was to be seen on the horizon, the young priest opened his umbrella, and followed the coffin to the grave.

Four strong men carried the bier on which the coffin was placed, and as chance willed it, when they pa.s.sed the smithy, one of the bearers stumbled and fell, which so startled the one walking behind him, that he lost his presence of mind, the bier lurched to one side, and the coffin fell to the ground.

It cracked, then the fastenings gave way, and it broke to pieces; first the embroidered shirt was visible, and then the supposed dead man himself, who awoke from the trance he had been in, moved slightly, and whispered:

"Where am I?"

Of course every one was as surprised as they could be, and there was plenty of running backward and forward to the smithy for blankets, shawls, and pillows, of which they made a bed in a cart that was outside waiting to be repaired. Into this they put the man on whom such a miracle had been worked, and the funeral procession returned as a triumphant one to Sranko's house. He had so far recovered on the way home as to ask for something to eat immediately on his arrival.

They brought him a jug of milk, at which he shook his head. Lajko offered him a flask of brandy he had taken with him to cheer his drooping spirits. He smiled and accepted it.

This ridiculous incident was the beginning of the umbrella legend, which spread and spread beyond the village, beyond the mountains, increasing in detail as it went. If a mark or impression were found on a rock it was said to be the print of St. Peter's foot. If a flower of particularly lovely color were found growing on the meadow, St. Peter's stick had touched the spot. Everything went to prove that St. Peter had been in Glogova lately. After all it was no common case.

The only real mystery in the whole affair was how the umbrella had come to be spread over little Veronica's basket; but that was enough to make the umbrella noted. And its fame spread far and wide, as far as the Bjela Voda flows; the Slovak peasants told the tale sitting round the fire, with various additions, according to the liveliness of their imagination. They imagined St. Peter opening the gates of Heaven, and coming out with the umbrella in his hand, in order to bring it down to the priest's little sister. The only question they could not settle was how St. Peter had got down to the earth. But they thought he must have stood on a cloud which let him gently down, and set him on the top of one of the neighboring hills.

Then they discussed the power the umbrella possessed of raising the dead to life, and so the legend was spread abroad. And whenever a rich peasant died, even in the villages miles off, Father Janos was sent for, with the red umbrella, to read the burial services. He was also sent for to sick persons who wished the umbrella spread over them while they confessed their sins. It must have a good effect, and either the sick person would recover, or if he did not do that he was at least sanctified.

If a newly married couple wished to do things very grandly (and they generally do), they were not only married at home by their own priest, but they made a pilgrimage to Glogova in order to join hands once more under the sacred umbrella. And that, to them, was the real ceremony. The bell-ringer held it over their heads, and in return many a piece of silver found its way into his pocket. And as for the priest, money and presents simply poured in upon him. At first he fought against all this superst.i.tion, but after a while even he began to believe that the red umbrella, which day by day got more faded and shabby, was something out of the common. Had it not appeared on the scene as though in answer to his prayer, and was it not the source of all his good fortune?

"Oh, Lord!" he had prayed, "unless Thou workest a miracle, how am I to bring up the child?"

And lo and behold, the miracle had been worked! Money, food, all the necessaries of life flowed from that ragged old umbrella. Its fame spread to higher circles too. The Bishop of Besztercebanya heard of it and sent for Father Janos and the umbrella; and after having examined it and heard the whole story, he crossed his hands on his breast and exclaimed: "Deus est omnipotens." Which was equivalent to saying he believed in it.

A few weeks later he went still further, and sent orders for the umbrella to be kept in the church, instead of in the priest's room. Upon which Father Janos answered that in reality the umbrella belonged to his little sister, who was still a minor, so that he had no right to it, nor to give it away. But he was sure, as soon as Veronica was of age, she would make a present of it to the church. But the umbrella not only brought good fortune to the priest, who soon started a small farm, and in a few years built himself a new house, and kept a horse and trap, but it made a great difference in Glogova too. Every summer numbers of ladies came from the small watering-places round about, very often countesses too (mostly old countesses), in order to say a prayer under the umbrella, and for these an inn was built opposite the priest's house, called the "Miraculous Umbrella." In fact, Glogova increased in size and importance from day to day.

In time the villagers began to feel ashamed of the simple wooden belfry, and had a tower built to the church, and hung two bells in it from Besztercebanya. Janos Sranko had a splendid statue of the Holy Family erected in front of the church, to commemorate his resurrection from the dead. The governess (for a time Father Janos had a governess for little Veronica) filled the priest's garden with dahlias, fuchsias, and other flowers which the inhabitants of Glogova had never yet seen.

Everything improved and was beautified (except Widow Adamecz, who got uglier day by day), and the villagers even went so far as to discuss on Sunday afternoons the advisability of building a chapel upon the mountain St. Peter had been seen on, in order to make it a place of pilgrimage and attract even more visitors.

The Gregorics Family

PART II

CHAPTER I.

THE TACTLESS MEMBER OF THE FAMILY.

Many years before our story begins, there lived in Besztercebanya a man of the name of Pal Gregorics, who was always called a tactless man, whereas all his life was spent in trying to please others. Pal Gregorics was always chasing Popularity, and instead of finding it came face to face with Criticism, a much less pleasing figure. He was born nine months after his father's death, an act of tactlessness which gave rise to plenty of gossip, and much unpleasantness to his mother, who was a thoroughly good, honest woman. If he had only arrived a little earlier ... but after all _he_ could not help it. As far as the other Gregorics were concerned, he had better not have been born at all, for of course the estates were cut up more than they would otherwise have been.

The child was weak and sickly, and his grown-up brothers always hoped for his death; however, he did not die, but grew up, and when of age took possession of his fortune, most of which he had inherited from his mother, who had died during his minority and left him her whole fortune; whereas the children of the first wife only had their share of the father's fortune, which, however, was not to be sneered at, for old Gregorics had done well in the wine trade. In those days it was easier to get on in that line than it is now, for, in the first place, there was wine in the country, and in the second place there were no Jews. In these days there is plenty of Danube water in the wine-cellars, but not much juice of the grapes.

Nature had blessed Pal Gregorics with a freckly face and red hair, which made people quote the old saying, "Red-haired people are never good."

So Pal Gregorics made up his mind to prove that it was untrue. All these old sayings are like pots in which generations have been cooking for ages, and Pal Gregorics intended to break one of them. He meant to be "as good as a piece of bread, and as soft as b.u.t.ter, which allows itself to be spread equally well on white bread or black." (This is a favorite phrase among the peasants, when describing a very good man.)

And he was as good a man as you could wish to see, but what was the good of it? Some evil spirit always seemed to accompany him and induce people to misunderstand his intentions.

The day he came back from Pest, where he had been completing his studies, he went into a tobacconist's shop and bought some fine Havanas, which at once set all the tongues in Besztercebanya wagging.

"The good-for-nothing fellow smokes seven-penny cigars, does he? That is a nice way to begin. He'll die in the workhouse. Oh, if his poor dead father could rise from his grave and see him! Why, the old man used to mix dry potato leaves with his tobacco to make it seem more, and poured the dregs of the coffee on it to make it burn slower."

Pal Gregorics heard that he had displeased the good townsfolk by smoking such dear cigars, and immediately took to short halfpenny ones. But this did not suit them either, and they remarked:

"Really, Pal Gregorics is about the meanest man going, he'll be worse than his father in time!"

Gregorics felt very vexed at being called mean, and decided to take the very next opportunity to prove the contrary. The opportunity presented itself in the form of a ball, given in aid of a hospital, and of which the Mayoress of the town was patroness. The programme announced that though the tickets were two florins each, any larger sum would be gratefully accepted. So Pal Gregorics gave twenty florins for his two-florin ticket, thinking to himself "They shan't say I am mean this time."

Upon that the members of the committee put their heads together and decided that Pal Gregorics was a tactless fellow. It was the greatest impertinence on his part to outbid the Mayor, and a baron to boot! Baron Radvanszky had given ten florins for his ticket, and Gregorics throws down twenty. Why, it was an insult! The son of a wine merchant! What things do happen in the nineteenth century, to be sure! Whatever Pal Gregorics did was wrong; if he quarrelled with some one and would not give in, they said he was a brawler; and if he gave in, he was a coward.