Copyright © 2013 by Joey Payne Allrights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below. jyapayne@gmail.comshe got from Margit once. She imagines Olivér with a wound, which is linked to suffering, and suffering with silence. “You say nothing,” Her whim exemplifies the tragedy, and goes as far, as Olivér is so hurt and ill, that he does not even recognize her. When she wakes up for a minute, she asks for water, which is clean, just like her love “crystal clear, like my love”. “Do you recognize me?” Margit asks and Gizella remembers only the greatness of the figure she sees, which she associates with a queen. A queen in crystal clothes, because the queen is clear, since what is great must be clear. She recognizes Margit in the end by a moment of light, but then she is back to her whim and finds some memories of Margit and Olivér. She remembers that Margit loves Olivér, but she remembers that Olivér is now hers. In her imagination Margit gave her Oliver. She thanks Margit this. 4. Bathori sent Szalanczi to many important journeys as ambassador. 5. Famous merchant who helped Zsigmond Bathori with money on more than one occasion 6. Funny name for the Polish for their short hair. 7. My sources do not say anything about the other two attacks, but most probably they were assassins. 8. in 1576 Istvan Bathori Transylvanian Prince was accepted as Polish king. He was followed by Krist6f, who died early, when his son, Zsigmond was only nine years old. Counselors reigned in his name. In 1594 Zsigmond ran to Kévar, because he thought that Boldizsaér and Andras Bathori wanted to kill him. Soon he returned, this is when we see him first in this novel.these are just moments which, after they are gone, cause even bigger jumps from reality. Dark remembering, association of ideas and the main idea, the idea fixa plays the starring role. When somebody is sick in their heart, their illness would go on to their souls and vice versa. Also, when the mind wants, hopes, fears, or is ashamed of something, it makes it come true. Although we cannot imagine anything else but what we experience in our life. Maybe these effects are put into a new form by combining different bits. How does it work in this present novel? Gizella with her weak nerves witnesses how Abafi is attacked by three people on the street and it makes her fall into a feverish illness. In her whim, which she desires a lot, though innocently as a child, she is Olivér's wife. At her first speech, she is ina fairy tale, and she is happy with Olivér. Then the confusion came in her mind between nice and happy. She followed the line towards nice, and with nice she associates flowers. The nicest of flowers, roses, specifically. She speaks again; her main ides, Olivér appears again, and she sits him next her. She is his wife, so she is with him, next to him in her imagination, which makes her associate to sitting next each other. A moment of light finds her and she realizes that being Olivér’s wife was/is her biggest desire. So she is happy now, and gratitude comes with happiness. “How can I thank you?” she asks. Again a moment of life and she realizes that what she now sees as real, was only a dream once. “This is a dream,” she says, but reaches forward with her arms. She says no, as if holding Olivér’s hands. His hands make her think of what he did with those hands and remember the fight she has witnessed. And she again jumps back to idea fixa: “with which you hug your Gizella so tight”. And again, back to the fight, which is an important feature of the whole situation, because it was what put her in this condition. “Three against one!” Then the number 3 makes her think of the two of them, which then she makes one “He and I, that is one.” She goes along with this, and Olivér wants a kiss from her in her imagination. The innocent child has her doubts. “We cannot,” soon she realizes that though she cannot get a kiss from her own experience, she knows that married couples do kiss. Then back again to the fight, where Olivér was hurt, and wounds need healing. So she heals him. Healing makes her think of medicine, and she links that to the easy recipe37. JOsika’s Notes To The Abafi **Note from the editor** This section does not have much significance in the english translation. The numbers before each point are referencing places in the text that have been altered too much, for the sake of making sense, so the numbers are not included in the main text. They are presented here for additional information only. eeseeeneeeereceeeeses 1. Please do not confuse Abafi with Apafi. 2. This is how Transylvanian Princes were called at that time. 3. One of the most difficult tasks for a writer is to grab the essence of craziness or whim well. Without psychology, both of them become childish and bore every educated reader. Some writers give a hundred kinds of words to these crazy figures. Sometimes they seem really clever and the reader could even believe them, unless the writer warns not to do so. What common sense does during performing the tasks of soul and body is confused by whim. The reader might not understand the confusion of many words and oppositional actions. This killing of order is whim. And there is a certain process in whim and in craziness; a kind of coherence of images, like that of a river in the mountains, coming down through and on top of every kind of rock. Sometimes it disappears, sometimes it forms a pond and then a waterfall. It changes, but it does not end. And the jumps, which a reader that is not paying much attention to might think of as ‘holes’ in logic, are themselves from logic. Every whim or craziness has its main feverish idea (idea fixa) to which it always returns, no matter how far it goes from this center from time to time. Awoman thinking about clear, for example, when she has a clear heart, makes her think of crystal, glass, water, and everything that has something to do with clear. In craziness and in whim there are shorter or longer periods of a clear mind, but sometimesThis might work at the first glance, but it is dangerous. It links morality to success and evil to punishment, though the first will not be loved for itself and the second will not be hated for itself. Any morality which comes from the real world might be safer, because it tells about reality and will not bring about disappointment. Even those examples when the evil can win over the moral have deep moral teachings in them. Is there a nicer scene, for example, than following morality in its fight against evil? And when it fails, when it is followed by cruelty, losses and despair instead of good luck, success and happiness, the sour feeling which surprises the reader is already a success of the writer and the moral. When an evil figure wins, we hate him a thousand times more, thus the effect is doubled. When an evil figure fails, we feel a little pity, weakening the moral effect, or instead, it gives us the beauty of revenge. Both affect our weakest part: our hearts. Allin all, a scene taken from reality or from a world which is highly similar to reality is safer, but the writer has to prepare to be able to write it the right way and teach the moral lessons to the reader or non-reader as well.story line of the novel; those for sure feel the effect of the indirect less. For them, if the writer’s aims are noble, the writer should use more direct moral descriptions. Here in Hungary, where there are only a few readers for Hungarian writers and those also are at very different levels of intelligence, the writer can never be sure whether his work would be appreciated. A part of the readers are only familiar with the foreign novels, so their expectations are high. The other half has read only a little and not many of the great works, with them it is hard for the writer to make himself understood. And then there are a few who want to explain everything, put everything in a system, and they don’t understand that a writer ceases to be a writer in the same moment when his flight is put between barriers. With these, most of his work with his novel is lost. The writer can take the figures of the moral effect either from the real world, or an imaginary world and let it be better or worse than the real one. There are some who create a world which has never been and never will be. Their plan is based on disappointment in their world and they try to make moral effect from the imaginary happenings of an imaginary utopia. Readers who like to think feel worse by reading nothing else, but that what they are reading could not happen anywhere else, only in the world of the novel. Other writers grab the world in its real form and write about it like that. Their life is not a novel-life; their people are not novel heroes, but real figures of the existing world and events. In the real world, evil people sometimes win, or are respected, or gain unfair success before they are defeated and forgotten by good, moral people. In real life there is no poetic justice, but there are some eternal truths which stay truths regardless how many times win the evil or the moral. This moral teaching is more often indirect, and requires more than an imaginary world and it’s made up morals. In imaginary worlds, poetic justice is always or almost always present. Morality wins and the evil is punished and whenever a moral person is hurt or dies of some evil act, the evil is immediately punished by some moral dri force.Marké Deli appeared once more in Transylvanian history, under the reign of Andras Bathori. His army was the wildest maybe in whole Europe. Without his Izidora, there was nobody who could have made him less cruel. Abafi’s marriage became a happy proverb. The memory of Cristierna was lovely to him and to Gizella throughout their whole lives. He told Gizella many times, “Providence took good care of everything. What attracted me to Izidora was grace and pity. For Margit, I felt the deepest respect mixed with brotherly love. Cristierna filled my heart with romantie glorification, and until my heart beats, she will live inside of it. She is the one to whom I shall be grateful for my wife! But what I feel for you, my good, sweet angel is love. Yes, yes, pure love!” he said with a passionately burning face. “The most beautiful woman in Transylvania is my true love!” 36. A Few Words On The Moral Effect Every good novel has to take a main point and prove it. Tf this happens the right way, then the moral effect occurs, which can be direct or indirect. If the given moral is showed attractive and the reader likes it, it makes the reader want to follow that moral and want to live up to it. Then, the moral effect is direct. If we show an evil figure, and give an appropriate and detailed description of him, we can provoke disgust against the evil. The moral becomes desirable, because the writer could make the evil disgusting and hated. This is indirect. Both of these moral effects can be conceived by the intelligent, literate reader. They can understand both, but those who read less or are less intelligent and pay attention only to thewould do anything to be the right one for him. She tried to follow his passions and habits, and tried to find out his thoughts, just in order to be able to do everything the was Abafi liked it. She was shy, which the manly, brave Abafi must not have liked very much, though he never made Gizella feel it. Gizella was so afraid of many things. For example, she would have never sat on a horse before. But one day, when Abafi was returning home from a hunt, he was surprised by the galloping Gizella, who rode out to meet her on his way home. These things and others Gizella had done continuously brought them closer and closer to each other. One day, Abafi had to go on a journey to Poland on the Prince’s request. Being apart from his good, nice Gizella made him realize how much he loved her. He felt with the first, unique joy of his heart that he was in love with his wife. Abafi was happy. Margit lived for her son. She saw how Gizella and Abafi got closer to each other day by day, but she never knew a new desire again. She loved Abafi until her death. Such a perfect being like Margit can Jove only once in her life. But her morals won over her passions and her love soon formed into that of a sister. She brought up Gizella, and everything the girl knew was what she had learned from Margit. Margit knew about the romantic devotion of Abafi toward Cristierna, but still she encouraged the plan to bring him together with Gizella. And she did it with much selflessness and modesty which can be seen from how Abafi attributed the whole plan to solely Cristierna, while it could not have happened without Margit. The Mikola house was happier than ever when the young couple went there on visit. Margit gave a nice house to the old Mrs. Timar and she did not forget to thank Balint’s old nurse, either. Cristierna’s and the Prince’s fate is known from Transylvanian history. The Prince gave his office to Andras Bathori in 1599, but later he regretted his decision. After all, he wandered around Europe among many vicissitudes. He divorced his beloved wife who returned to her parents.noble soul! There is only one question left. Was their marriage happy? Abafi loved Cristierna, which we have seen. In this love, there was something knightly; something sublime. He gave his soul fully to his lady. He sacrificed himself and his whole life for her one request. Abafi believed that Cristierna knew about his feelings for her, and he felt good when he thought about how Cristierna would look at him with appreciation that he could fulfill a wish of her heart. Cristierna did know about his feelings, it is true. She also knew that Abafi would be happy with Gizella. This was why she led her into his arms. She hoped that if he was with Gizella, he would forget about his romantic feelings for her and would slowly realize what a pearl Gizella was. She believed that no man staying with Gizella could not do else, but love her deeply. We have seen Abafi under many circumstances, so we know how he always keeps his promises, and how he became a good, noble man in his spirit from an evil, cruel being. We have seen him sacrifice anything for those who he loved. Knowing all this, we can see that even if he was not happy at first, he was calm for sure. Giving a happy life to Cristierna’s adopted daughter was a beautiful new aim for his life, bearing in mind that Gizella’s happiness would bring happiness into Cristierna’s heart as well. He did his duty with full enthusiasm, not at all half-heartedly. He was determined to live up to this new task. And Gizella made it easy for him many ways. He was a perfect girl, and it was impossible to get into such a close relationship with her without feeling deep liking towards her at least. Knowing Abafi, we can imagine that firstly he felt respect and sympathy for Gizella and nothing more. Since the beautiful, romantic games of fresh love did not happen between them before, these new plays came for Gizella in her marriage. And how happy she was! Gizella was the most excellent woman in Transylvania. One had to meet her several times to see that and respect her as much as she deserved, though. Her soul could be seen in her actions, not in her words. Clean and modest are two words suit her the best. She loved Abafi more than anyone could have loved him and sheGizella looked surprised, but stayed silent, waiting for Mikola to continue. “Gizi!” he went on, kissing her forehead and smiling, “I have good news for you, news which all girls want to hear! Guess, Gizi!” Some interesting anticipation appeared in Gizella’s soul and her face went red. “Uncle,” she said on her so lovely voice, “you always make sweet fun of things, but I cannot guess,” she said, and kept her eyes on the floor, while a silent smile brushed her face. “Asuitor’s in the house!” shouted out the old man with joy. “Oh,” sighed Gizella, blushing and then turning pale again. “You have nothing to say?” he asked. “I am not going to marry.” she said silently and seriously. “Never?” asked Mikola, like someone who did not doubt the success of his plans. “My sweet little Gizella,” said Abafi, “I have a very important question to you, which I would like to pose very seriously. T want you to hear it from me, nobody else,” he said in a kind voice, “and I would like you to answer it after thinking it over. If you hope that you could be happy with me, if your heart is free, I offer mine to you together with my hand and with the promise that it will be the sweetest duty of my life, to make happy such a lovable woman.” Gizella could hardly stay on her feet. “And, Abafi,” she said, surprised and hardly audible, “Olivér! What made you suddenly decide like this?” “I can see on your face that you love Olivér!” said Mikola loudly, “Do not send him away, you should not! Come,” he went on gladly, and led Gizella to Abafi, giving her in his arms. “You were made for each other!” he said resting his eyes on the nice couple. “Come, Margit!” he said to Mrs. Gyulafi, who had just entered the room, “Dear daughter, come and participate in our joy! Gizella has got a husband...Olivér!” The old Mikola was exceptionally happy and Margit hugged Gizella with tears in her eyes, thehand for a kiss, and Abafi took it tenderly to his lips. “Tomorrow I will see you again, as the 35. Gizella groom to Gizella, to my Gizella!” she emphasized. Abafi bowed and left the room. “Happy they are!” - Shakespeare The next morning, Abafi was in the house of Mikola, talking to the old man. Mikola’s face was burning with joy. Abafi seemed silent, glad and graceful, as was expected from he, who always could treat his passions. “Gizi!” said Mikola joyfully opening the door to the neighboring room, “Gizi, my dear child, come here for a word!” Gizella came. Miklés Mikola hugged her tightly. “My sweet, dear angel,” he said, “I hope what I am going to say to you will make you at least as happy as it made me when I heard it!”in life, “Your request surprised me more than I could or dare to say, but since it is a request from my beloved and deeply respected Princess, I can only say one answer.” “Can?” said Cristierna, looking questioningly at Abafi and her eyes told how much she was unhappy with the condition. “I want to!” said Abafi in a determined voice. Ashort pause came, during which both of them sank into their own thoughts. “Abafi,” she said smiling, but not from her heart, “and don’t you want to know who that woman is?” “Whoever she is, Your Highness chose her, so Iam calm.” he said, but his face said differently. The Princess continued in a charming voice, “Thope, dear Abafi, that my choice will be of your liking. The lady I chose as wife for such a great paladin and hero is my adopted daughter, and in this sense, she deserves the best of husbands. She,” the Princess continued after a short pause, “is my dear Gizella!” Abafi said nothing. On his face not even the smallest change or surprise appeared. The Princess could have said anyone’s name; he would not have cared at the moment. He could only think about how he wanted to fulfill the request of his beloved. He could not think of anything else. “How is it that you have no words?” she asked. “Is my choice wrong?” “Gizella is a lovely child and she,” he continued in a suffering voice, “is your adopted daughter!” Cristierna could not look at Abafi any longer. She turned away her eyes because there was so much determination, so much significance in his words, that she suddenly was touched. “Abafi,” she said, trembling a little, “all I want is your and her happiness! She loves you, this I know for sure... Yes, she loves you with all the fire of her young heart and you, a nice anticipation, are telling me, you will be happy as well!” Abafi sighed, his soul could not believe in this happiness. “[ hope,” Mrs. Bathori went on, standing up from the sofa, “that you will fulfill my request suiting the most loyal and most perfect paladin of our noble and great house.” She offered her“Tf it is impossible,” replied Abafi, passionately and full of fire, “I will make it possible, my Lady! When you pronounce your command, it is equal to my fulfilling it!” “It’s not a command!” she replied quietly, “This is just a wish from my heart, which I believe is possible to be true, and it would make me so happy! And I believe that it would make you happy as well.” “And what is it, my Lady? Just say it, so that I can help; so that I can make you happy. There is no bigger desire of my burning heart! No matter if it is unexpected, no matter if it ruins all my plans for my future, all I want is to fulfill any of your requests; to make and see you happy!” The lady blushed a little. She was touched by Abafi’s reaction. She said in a low voice, “Abafi, I chose you a really lovely woman.” Abafi went pale, dark thoughts gloomed his forehead, and on his face, something almost reproachful appeared. Hearing this from the only one he loved was a sour thing, even if he knew that she did not love him back, and she did not even suspect his feelings. Still, it hurt. So Abafi was in pain, caused by the most heartfelt wish of Cristierna to him. He felt ashamed that he let himself think impossible things, driven by his own passions. He knew how wrong his feelings were, but he could not get over his surprise as soon as any other time. He knew that his love was clean, selfless and suffering. Cristierna was silent. She was looking at Abafi’s reaction. “You say nothing!” she said finally. “My Lady!” was all he could say. “So is it that difficult for Abafi to fulfill a wish of my heart?” she asked blushing, as if she said more than she wanted to. Abafi breathed slowly, his eyes looking into the distance and an inner fight was chewing on his soul. Cristierna’s last words let him know that she saw through him, that his secret was not a secret any more, she knew. She knew how much he loved her. Oh, women’s tact! His face was on fire he felt, and he fell on one knee in front of the Princess, which she did not really want to see, as was visible on her face. So Abafi stood up and said with the sudden determination with which he always made the biggest decisionsBalint easily got used to his new state between the loving arms of his mother and grandfather. He was a child, and soon he said, “Mother” to Margit with the same love in his heart and in his voice, as he once used to tell Izidora. While Margit was happier than ever in her life, Abafi could see his love, Cristierna, several times with Gizella, feeling more than before. With Cristierna present, Abafi could not think of anything else but her! A few days after the secret of Balint was revealed, the Princess called for Abafi. Her behavior towards him stayed the same. Last time he was in Fehérvar, the Princess did not call him as many times as she used to, so Abafi’s joy now was doubled. He hurried towards her on the wings of love. He found Cristierna in her reading room. She was sitting on her sofa. Her face looked serious, but graceful. “Welcome here, my knight!” she said, “Come closer, closer!” She was so charming, and her eyes were so tame that Abafi stood in front of her staring like a statue. “I have a request for you,” the Princess started slowly. Abafi remained silent, but on his face happiness was easily visible. He was thinking that she had never been so nice and graceful to him before. “My request is important,” she went on after a short pause, looking at Abafi smiling. Olivér said nothing, his soul was flying in joy that the beloved woman trusted him with something important for her. “You have to keep it a secret to be able to fulfill my request,” Cristierna smiled, “Will you promise you will not say a word to anyone, before you hear me out?” Abafi replied with a passionate, “Yes!” “However hard it should be and though it might affect your whole life?” asked Cristierna, attentively keeping her eyes on Abafi’s face. “The more important and the more difficult it is, the more joy I will find in providing it for you!” Abafi said, trying to hold in his passionate feelings. “But,” she went on, seeming a bit worried, “if my request is much unexpected, if it burdens you to fulfill it, if it changes all you have planned for your life, if...”any joy for getting a new mother instead of the lost one. He stayed sad and joyless and asked Abafi from time to time, “Who will love me so much as my mother did? Because she was my mother, more than anyone could ever be.” Margit was also in Fehérvar when they arrived. She went there to visit Gizella with her old, but always happy, father, Miklés Mikola. Abafi did not want to tell them the good news immediately, remembering the effect of them on him. First, Abafi hid the child and, during his first visit to Margit, he only called Margit’s attention to the fact that her son had a cross-like mole on his shoulder when he was born, and that it later disappeared. So he mentioned the possibility that the child was exchanged with another. Margit was shocked by the assumption and said that her son died in her arms and that moles often disappear or change on children’s skin. The next day, Abafi mentioned the issue again, adding that he suspects a change was made for real. “Abafi!” shouted Margit, “Raising such hope in another heart without any possibilities that it would come true is cruel! Don't talk about this anymore! Such a heavenly joy is not for this world!” “But what if it could come true! And by me!” Margit jumped from her seat, “Oh, Olivér! No, no,” she murmured, “This is impossible!” Olivér, slowly adding the details, soon told Margit the whole secret. Who could describe her joy? A new world, and a new life opened for her. She again became a mother! And when she hugged her lost son tightly and kissed his mole a hundred times, all the sufferings of the past mixed with the heavenly joys of the present, and she raised her eyes to the skies and felt in heaven! “I have no more wishes in this life! Oh, Lord!” she cried in her joy. But then she touched Abafi’s arm and said, “I have one more wish, I do! I want you to be the happiest man of all, Abafi, you who have given back my life!” Mikola was also unbelievably happy for his grandson and soon the whole of Transylvania knew about the strange history.The troops left and soon they arrived at Transylvania’s borders. Thousands of feelings came to Abafi’s heart. His heart still ached from the death of Izidora. He was excited about the beautiful surprise he was about to give Margit, and it was a good medicine for his aching heart, but the emptiness of it could not be healed. What he wanted to do for Izidora was a subject in many salons in Transylvania. Many judged him for it, many looked up to him. Those who knew his heart also knew that he could not have done anything else. Margit and Cristierna were amazed by it. Gizella stayed silent, but her first thought was “Happy Izidora!” The closer the men got to Fehérvar, where Cristierna had her court, the more Abafi’s heart swelled with love. He could not help but think about whether this moral woman, now suspecting his feelings, would retreat from him or not. And if she would, he would still love him forever, from far away, without ever being able to set an eye on her again! There would be no sacrifice he would not have taken happily for her. ‘The Bathori finally arrived in the glory of victory. His people lived and respected him even more; even those who despised of him previously. And the beautiful Cristierna came out to him with such a grace and such a lovely face, but he only said hello to her coolly, with a strange constraint. Though this hurt her gentle heart a lot, she could hide her feelings so that anyone who saw her angelic smile would have thought she was happy. The usual welcomes were made and Abafi left for his lands and houses. His first doing was to give back the lands which he received from the Prince to Cseszeliczki, its previous owner. He was the one we met as Hawk in Mark6’s army. Bathori was not too happy about this, but he promised Abafi could do with the land whatever he wanted to, so he did nothing. The little Balint, who was not Zsiga any more, was at home, healthy and fine. The priest who taught the child kept praising him for long hours. Abafi and Marké, who came with him, acquired all proof of the origins of the little boy and it was proved that the boy was really the son of Margit. Abafi bid farewell to Mark6, who returned to the borders hating everything, but mainly himself and the world. Abafi traveled to Fehérvar and took Balint with him. On the way, he told the child about everything. The kid really loved Izidora, whom he believed to be his mother, so he could not feellooked so sour, so unhappy and so cold; as if dead from the inside. Abafi also felt broken. “Oh, our loss is so great! Horrible...” he said, grabbing Marko's hands. He sat down again. “Marko,” he said, “This story seems true, but if we could prove it, Margit would be the happiest woman in the world!” “The nurse has finally recovered from her illness and she is still alive, as far as I know. Also, the cross-like mole should also be proof.” “And one more thing!” Abafi shouted, “The kid takes after Margit a bit, I realized that long ago...And the heart of the mother will feel what she needs to feel, that will be the greatest proof!” “At first the kid totally looked like his father, Gyulafi,” added Mark6, “but later I also noticed some change in his figure and face.” Marké Deli sat with Abafi for a long time. They planned together how to proceed and they decided that for now the thing should remain a secret. Later, the Prince ordered them in his tent. 34. Hopeless Wish “Heavens! I never thought that!” - Harro Haring The Prince told the people who gathered in his tent that he was taking his armies home. The Turks crossed the Danube, and he thought he had done enough. Many thought he should stay, even Abafi, who would have given anything to see his Cristierna as soon as possible, but he was convinced that it would be better to stay and defeat the Turks completely. But the indecisive Bathori was bored by camping and he wanted to go home. He desired to go back to Transylvania, not for staying there forever, but to be able to start working on one of his plans with the Italian lords in his court. They told him a lot about Italy, and it seemed so interesting, and being a Cardinal had been Bathori’s secret wish for a long time.the child’s room only very rarely, but she went for fruits one afternoon, and when she tried to pick an apple from the tree, she lost her balance and fell, with the child in her arms. The little Balint was immediately covered in blood. The nurse ran to the healer woman with whom my Izida lived, and, using the unconscious state of my daughter, they exchanged the babies. And you know the rest.” finished Marké. “Ah! So Zsiga is really Margit’s son?! No, this is impossible! How could it stay a secret for so long? And why did the healing woman stay silent?” “The nurse was her own daughter...” was all what Marko said. “And later,” asked Abafi, “when the boy, who they then believed was Gyulafi, died? If they had told them the secret, they could have profited from it greatly!” “Then it was my order and my purse which kept them silent. The child died three months after I was told about the secret.” “And what made you do so?” asked Abafi, standing up from Marko's side. “You really have to ask this? You, who knew Izida well? Telling her that her son is dead... No. She lived for her son. She had only this one real passion! It would have been like killing her. How could a father do that to his daughter? I would have given my whole life for one hour of her happiness!” Abafi looked at him seriously. “That was still not right. I can understand you, but I cannot agree with you.” “So you would have killed Izida instead? Because that would have been the sure consequence if she realized her son was dead. She only lived for that boy, and if she had to lose him, she would have sunk in the ocean of sadness and in her own tears. Her heart would have broken and she would have died.” “T don’t know what I would have done, Marké. I am human too, and in your situation I might have decided the same way, but it was still not right.” Marké stood silently in front of Abafi. Helittle boy was born and Izida was very weak for a long time. I feared for her life. While she was still weak and feverish, one night, I heard a scream from her room. I hurried in and I saw that Zsiga was lying on the floor with a huge wound on his head. It was not too big, and the woman, with whom Izida lived in one room, and who had great respect as healer, healed the wound first, Izida’s pain was so great after this event that her love for the boy doubled while he got healthy again. Around this time I noticeda black, cross-like spot on the kid’s right shoulder, which we had never seen before. Izida recovered, the kid was growing, and when he reached his fifth year, Izida gave him to an old lady to take care for him in Alvine. Our lifestyle was not suitable for the child at that time. My daughter loved the boy so much! She visited him as often as she could, like you know. But Zsiga was not her son.” “It is more and more mysterious. How could he not be her son?” said Abafi. “You will understand soon. About three years ago a monk entered my tent. He told me that I needed to follow him because of an extremely important issue. He would not answer my questions, but I followed him. While we were approaching the neighboring village he told me the following: ‘A few days ago I was called to a pregnant woman. When I arrived at the small house, I found the woman in a very dangerous state. I sat next to her and I tried to comfort her with my religious speech and comforts. She raised her eyes begging and she said she committed a huge sin. She asked if it could be forgiven if she really repents it in front of God, with her whole heart. I said yes and asked her to tell me everything. I told her I might help in solving the problem. She asked me to immediately come for you and take you to her.’ While we were talking,” said Mark6, “we arrived at a small house and found the patient on a rough bed. It seemed she was not crazy. The monk left on her request and I sat down next to her bed. She told me that she was the nurse of Margit Mikola’s little son, around the time when my Izida was so ill after bearing her child. The little Gyulafi was named Balint after his father and he was older by only a few days compared to my little grandchild. Gyulafi was not at home. He went to Poland four weeks before his son was born. Margit loved her child passionately, and she wanted to feed him from her own breasts, but she could not do so. The nurse could leavewas in question. “Not her son?” “No,” said Marké silently. “Whose then? And Izidora knew that?” “No, she did not know and I could not tell her, you have to understand, she loved him so much, I was unable to tell her...” “This is news to me... Please, for God’s sake, explain!” “Sit down here,” said Mark6, “and listen to me, before you make your judgment. Izidora was the fruit of a forbidden relationship. Her mother is from a noble family, so her name stays a secret in my heart forever. I can see her so rarely! But this is not what I should talk about now. Izida grew up among men, and already, as a child, she showed the signs of that stubbornness and determination which later made her one of the most interesting beings in this world. But there's no need to explain this part to you, right?” Abafi sighed. Marké went on, “Despite all difficulties, she was a very lovely child. Her weaknesses and faults were caused by her upbringing. And maybe...yes, I was too permissive of a father! What I’m saying are great words, paladin, I've never spoken them before. She was the commander and I feared her! Her first mistakes T tried to prevent and lessen. I liked everyone who loved my daughter, I knew about her relationship with Brigade,” Markd’s face blushed in anger, “Oh, Brigade, coward, assassin! He is gone forever. If he lived, my revenge would be horrible! He came to my army as an orphan; a wild, stubborn kid, but strong in battle. But I forgave him for everything, because he seemed. to make my little girl happy; he loved her!” Marké stopped talking for a second. Revenge, anger and despair burnt in his eyes. “Oh, Izida was beautiful and passionate, just like her mother! She sinned, and the fruit of her sin was a beautiful little boy. I played with him for hours, a happy grandfather!” “And who was the father of the child?” asked Abafi. “She never told me. But I think it was Balint Gyulafi, Margit Mikola’s husband, because at that time we worked around his cattle, and the young husband happily searched for my Izida’s company. More happily than with the first woman of Transylvania, Margit Mikola. But theWhat Abafi did deeply touched Marké’s heart. Two days after the burial he went to Abafi’s tent and Abafi let him in silently, with a deep despair on his face. It seemed that a sour expression was carved to his mouth forever. His eyes radiated pain. Compassion, gratitude and friendship united in Abafi’s heart, and his loss was great. Now that this most interesting being ceased to exist, Abafi felt an empty space in his heart. Marké Deli stood silently in front of Abafi. “You,” he said after a while, “are a graceful, noble man,” Abafi stayed silent, he hugged the iron man, “for what you did for my daughter,” said Marké, “I owe you a great lot. You made her final moments the happiest of all, and for that, 1am yours.” He stopped here, and reached his large hands towards Abafi. “My life is a desert now; it has become winter, empty. I lost everything I had; my daughter, myself... Oh, Izidora!” he said in a deep, sad voice which almost seemed to come from underground. “What I wanted to do,” Abafi replied, “I cannot do any more. I wanted to make her my wife in front of the whole world, to give a father to her son. The first was prevented by her death, but the last I will do, I swear on my own life!” he said, extending his hand to Marké. “And if she had lived? If her young body had defeated the wound, then... Abafi?” “I never tried to look better than Iam, Marké. I wanted to make her happy in her last moments, to assure her about the well-being of her son, to give her a name in front of the whole world... Though close to her grave, this is what I wanted to do. And if she lived, an Abafi would not break his oath. She would have been my wife and would have provided her with the all respect and happiness and joy that my wife could ever hope for.” Marko's face seemed happy for a moment. He stood silent for a moment, and then started pacing in the tent. “A secret burdens my heart,” he said finally, “which I do not need to hold back any more.” “A secret?” asked Abafi. “Zsiga,” said Marko darkly, “Is not Izidora’s son.” Abafi trembled, he felt as if his own son“You should not blame yourself,” said Gyarfas, “She had to die. She had no chance to live and you gave her the happiest moments of her whole life!” Abafi stood silently by the dead girl and a whole world of pain burdened his shoulders and his soul. Moments after her death, a priest arrived in haste with the servant who Abafi sent before. “Too late, Father...” he said, looking at the dead beauty. A wildly galloping horse could be heard from outside, and the drum of heavy boots. “This is the lion of the caves,” said Abafi, “Marké Deli!” 33. The Little Zsiga “— your child -— all your joy Have now died.” - Vérésmarty Izidora was buried the next day with the largest pomp they could make. Twelve paladins carried the nice dead and let her rest forever in peace at the closest cemetery. Marké Deli’s pain could not be expressed. He did not ery or shout. He was silent, cold, and empty, like a winter grave. Smiles left his lips for good, and he just stood, like an abandoned tower. The Prince gave Brigade to Mark6, but on the day after Izidora’s burial when they went to see him, he was dead. He broke his own head with the stave he was chained to. The sentinels said they only heard a thud at night.he bent down to her and kissed her lips. “Oh,” Izidora said and her eyes looked at the sky. She did not speak. She looked at Olivér without words, like a blind man who sees the beautiful world for the first time. “You say nothing,” Olivér said, caressing her forehead. “Yes, yes!” shouted Izidora, “My heart did not cheat when I loved the man who now is standing as a heavenly angel in front of me! You are Transylvania’s best man, Abafi! Thousands of hearts are waiting for you, a thousand women would die for you, and you would do this for me, for a miserable girl who is so far from your kindness!” “Quietly, my dear!” Olivér tried to calm her. “No!” answered Izidora passionately. “I want the whole world to hear that Olivér Abafi is the most noble of all men! Oh, Olivér, yes, you are right, I had a secret wish deep in my heart, so secret that even I found it in this moment!” The doctor came to them. “Don't talk too much, my lady! Be careful!” “Olivér, is this possible, is this true?” said Izidora, “This is just a dream... Olivér is mine, my husband! Am I not cast out from the world anymore? Your, oh, yours!” she said laughing from behind her tears. “Mrs. Abafi! To appear on the sides of such a husband and look proudly at the first Princess, because my husband is one who I look at as one looks at their God!” “T made you no good with this, Izidora!” said Abafi fearfully, “Please, calm down!” “No, no,” she said passionately, “I will not die, I will live! See, all the pain is gone! I will hug my son and I will be the most proud, most happy woman in the world, oh, Olivér!” She said in a really low voice, and hugged Olivér’s neck with her powerless arms and pushed her tear stained face to his. This is how she kept him hugged, until her face went deadly pale, her eyes closed, and her arms stiffened. And Izidora ceased to exist. “Ah, I killed her!” he shouted in horror, “She’s dead! Oh, what have I done!”But what can be that joy you are preparing for her?” “Still, still sighed Abafi and left the tent. He gave an order to a servant who immediately hurried away. Izidora woke up and opened her eyes slowly. Her face was calm and serious. She reached for Olivér’s hands. “Father for my Zsiga...” she said in a soft voice, “Oh, make him happy, please! Heavens, that I can’t see him in my last hour! Leave this life without his little arms hugging my neck one last time... Without hearing him say 'Mother...” Olivér approached her, took her hands and asked in a tame voice, “Izidora, are you in pain? Are you feeling better?” Izidora looked at Abafi with some gorgeous gentleness in her eyes, “You are so good.. I feel so happy that you care about me so much, Olivér! I have no pain, but it pains me leaving behind three people... Oh, this hurts! My father’s late...” “Just calm down my Izidora, he is coming. But don’t you want to surprise him with something which might ease his pain a little?” “Surprise him? But how? His pain is going to be terrible!” “Tzidora!” said Abafi, looking at her enthusiastically, “Can you bear joy now?” “Joy? Heavens! Is it my son...?” she said and her face lightened up with joy. “No!” Abafi said, “your son is my son. He is now happy at home, and his little heart might be broken if he saw his mother like this. He is not here, but maybe it’s better this way.” “This is true,” she said after a pause, “My desire was cruel.” “Have you ever had a secret wish, Izidora? Look in your heart and ask!” “No,” she said, “nothing that could come true so soon.” Olivér pushed Izidora’s hands to his heart, but his words were gone, as if he was not brave enough to talk. “My Izidora, be my woman!" he finally continued, “Give a father to your son, and let him wear my name! Be my wife, Izidora!” and“My lord, please be a man and accept that she has ceased to exist,” said Gyarfas in a low and serious voice. “Ceased...” repeated Olivér desperately. “Not yet,” said Gyarfas, “but I can’t promise more than two hours...” “So young, so graceful, so noble... and only two hours left for her!” he cried out in vain, “And all for me... Oh, this pain is unbearable!” “Maybe it is better like this,” said Bethlen, “You loved her, Olivér, don't deny it, you loved her, but where could it lead you? She is happy now! You take her son, and she can spend her last hours with you, with you in love.” “Farkas, your cruel, cold cleverness cuts my heart this minute. I loved her or I didn’t, what do I care now? Losing a friend is terrible enough! And what is any other feeling worth compared to the loyalty and love she showed for me? You know my heart, my friend; you know the secrets of it. | loved this girl, [ loved her as a friend, a benefactor, and I loved her as hot as only the most graceful heart can love. I will not forget her as long as I live!” Olivér sat on the rug, next to Izidora, his shoulder forgotten. Wordless pain darkened his soul. Izidora was sleeping and Bethlen left. The doctor stayed with Olivér. Abafi stood up. It seemed as if he was thinking about something important; planning something. His thoughts must have been noble, because his face turned calmed slowly. He took the doctor’s hands. “Gyarfas, are you sure there is no hope for Izidora to live?” “T'm sure.” Abafi sighed, “Do you think a great joy would hurry up her death, or could it help keep her alive a bit more?” “She has minutes, it does not really matter. But maybe it could help, yes.” “Are you sure?” “As sure as a man can be about anything.will not do anything. I will let you, like a lamb, just take me to her, please!” The people lifted him up and started to bring him to Pered. He said nothing anymore. He just roared and fought for his freedom while ten men took him. Abafi, Bethlen and Gyarfas entered the tent. The look on Abafi's face could not be expressed by words. “Oh, you dear soul, you faithful little being, I cannot bear that you have to die so young, because of me! But be calm, your son will be my son until the end of my life! Oh, Gyarfas, I give you everything I have if you save her!” Gyarfas started working immediately. He pulled the arrow from her side, and the girl not so much as hissed in the process. Gyarfas examined the wound and carefully tied it. “The wound can be healed. Just silence and calmness, little lady! Here, this potion will help with the fever.” Izidora shook her head and reached for Abafi’s hands, “I can feel I will die. Oh, Olivér, you have to live!... My Lord, thank you for sparing him! Be a father to my Zsiga,” she went on, hardly murmuring. And the lady, who fought in battles, who only knew the joys of man, who had been in her whole life rough and hard, had now become so tender, so gentle, and so feminine, that nobody would have recognized Lightning in her. Olivér looked at the beautiful lady with such a passion for which there are no expressions, he took her hands and said, “You will recover, just stay calm, my dearest!” “Oh, my son, my precious little Zsiga! Oh, Lord, how far you are from me! Who will love you so deep like I do?” “Quiet, my sweet Izidora, you will live! But anyways, Zsiga, my Zsiga, will have a father. I swear you with the most sacred oath of mine!” “Oh, Olivér, your Izidora... Your son.. Heavens... me, the bloody Lightning, lover of Brigade, Izidora without a name, without innocence or modesty! Oh, my heart breaks... I lived, yes I lived...” She raised her dying eyes at Olivér in flames, and pushed his hand to her heart. Her eyes closed, and she stayed like that, unconscious, sleeping, or dead. This was how she stayed. Olivér walked up and down in the tent. “Gyarfés, ask for anything and I will give you, but save her! For God’s sake, save her! I feel such a misery which I would not have thought of existed!”he shouted. Big noise started outside the tent, many people were talking at the same time, someone swearing wildly. Abafi picked up Izidora, who hardly could say, “My father, oh, Olivér!... my son!... Heavens, I have to die without seeing him!” she stopped speaking and her face went deadly pale. Abafi placed her on the bed. “You stop!” Abafi heard a familiar voice in front of the tent. He ran outside and saw Péter, Gyarfas and Bethlen, who grabbed the neck of the felon, who shot his arrow exactly to bed, as if he knew where to aim. “Who are you?” asked Bethlen. “Olivér, were you harmed?” “I wish I were, instead!” said Abafi with the deepest pain, “I am unhurt, but... Oh, come Farkas, help, poor Izidora is inside, she might be dead by now!... And you, Péter, run for her father, Marko Deli. His tent is in the valley right under the tent of the Prince! Take my best horse, run! And take this assassin to Pered. He will pay with his life.” “Oh, Izidora!” said the killer angrily, “Tzidora, and not you, Abafi? Oh, hells! How could I make such a mistake? Izidora!” his voice trembled, “You are hit? You, for whom I would kill thousands? And you Abafi, who I wanted to kill, you can live?!” he tried to tear himself from the holding hands, but he could not. “Brigade,” could be heard from the tent, “Thank you, oh my Lord, that he hit me and not Oliver!” “Don't take me!” roared Brigade crazily, tearing his own clothes in his wild attempts to free himself. “Let me just see her, let me kiss the dust from her shoes! I curse the hour when my arrow was made and I curse the hand which shot it! Oh, Tzidora!” Many people tried to take him at once, but craziness tripled his force. Finally, he fell on his knees and said quietly, “Fine. Kill me, hang me, but please, let me first see her, see her for the last time... Let her eyes fall on me for the last time, even if it’s full with hatred! I won’t do anything, just please, let me see her for the last time! Take my eye and let me see her with the other, and then you can take the other as well, I“And have you seen anyone around here today?” Abafi asked. “Not yet, but the man who looked in the tent yesterday was not here for good business.” “That was Lightning.” “I swear it was not! It was a big, ugly man.” “Who could that be? But later with that, now go and bring doctor Gyarfas, please.” Péter tied the wound to stop it from bleeding and went to get the doctor. Abafi lied in bed on his other elbow. He could see out the tent. He saw the fires, and he could hear the noise of weapons being cleaned with the horses eating and neighing. Not long after Péter was gone, Lightning’s horse started neighing as well, very quietly. A nice, young lad entered the tent in light brown coat. “Izidora! Look, you good soul, your horse is here now, he’s alright. I fed him tonight, but tomorrow morning I will have him led back to your tent! But what brings you here now?” Izidora put down her cloak and approached Abafi sympathetically. “You have a wound, and unrest in my soul brought me here. T was worried, if I had seen this on the field, I would have made a junction right there! How much blood could be lost since then?” “Calm down, please... The wound is small. You can pull down the linen and have a look. Doctor Gyarfas will arrive in a minute, but your tender, fine hands will treat me nicer, I am sure.” Izidora took some cloths immediately from her breasts and put them on the floor. She took down the linen from the wound and tied it up with endless care and professionalism. “You might have these plants boiled for tea, it will help recover soon. I hope Gyarfas will agree to this, you should ask him. Now, hush!” she said with deep feelings in her voice, “Does it hurt?” she asked gently, “Heavens! I am done!” she screamed suddenly, and in the same moment she collapsed. An arrow flew over Abafi’s head and found its way to Izidora. “Ah! What's this!?” Abafi shouted, jumping on his feet, “Izidora, good soul, what’s wrong with you?... Heavens! You're bleeding! HELP!”