So he began to frequent various houses where there were pretty girls to be met, and where he, being a good match, was well received; but his step-brothers, who were always in hopes that the delicate little man would not live long, did their best to upset his plans in this case too. So Pál Gregorics got so many refusals one after the other, that he was soon renowned in the whole neighborhood. Later on he could have found many who would have been glad of an offer from him, but they were ashamed to let him see it. After all, how could they marry a man whom so many girls had refused?
On the eve of St. Andrew's any amount of lead was melted by the young girls of the town, but not one of them saw in the hardened mass the form of Gregorics. In fact, none of the young girls wanted to marry him. What they looked for was romance, not money. Perhaps some old maid would have jumped at his offer, but between the young maids and the old maids there is a great difference—they belong to two different worlds. The young girls were told that Pál Gregorics spat blood, and of course, the moment they heard that, they would have nothing more to do with him, so that at his next visit their hearts would beat loudly, but not in the same way they had done last time he drove up in his coach and four. Poor Gregorics! What a pity! The horses outside may paw the ground, and toss their manes as much as they like, what difference does it make? Pál Gregorics spits blood! Oh, you silly little Marys and Carolines. Of course Pál Gregorics is an ugly, sickly man, but think how rich he is; and after all, he only spits his own blood. So what can it matter to you?
Believe me, Rosália, who is ten years older than you, would not be such a silly little goose, if she had your chances, for she is a philosopher, and if she were to be told that Pál Gregorics spits blood she would only think to herself, "What an interesting man!" And aloud she would say, "I will nurse him." And deep down in her mind where she keeps the ideas that cannot be put into words, which, in fact, are hardly even thoughts as yet, she would find these words, "If Gregorics spits blood already, he won't last so very long."
You silly little girls, you know nothing of life as yet; your mothers have put you into long dresses, but your minds have not grown in proportion. Don't be angry with me for speaking so plainly, but it is my duty to show my readers why Pál Gregorics did not find a wife among you. The reason is a simple one. The open rose is not perfectly pure; bees have bathed in its chalice, insects have slept in it. But in the heart of an opening bud, not a speck of dust is to be found.
That is why Pál Gregorics was refused by so many young girls, and by degrees he began to see that they were right (for, as I said before, he was a good, simple man), marriage was not for him, as he spat blood; for after all, blood is one of the necessaries of life. When he had once made up his mind not to marry, he troubled his head no more about the girls, but turned his attention to the young married women. He had beautiful bouquets sent from Vienna for Mrs. Vozáry, and one fine evening he let five hundred nightingales loose in Mrs. Muskulyi's garden. He had the greatest difficulty in getting so many together, but a bird-fancier in Transylvania had undertaken to send them to him. The beautiful young woman, as she turned on her pillows, was surprised to hear how delightfully the birds were singing in her garden that night.
He had no success with the young married women either, and was beginning to get thoroughly sick of life, when the war broke out. They would not take him for a soldier either, they said he was too small and thin, he would not be able to stand the fatigues of war. But he wanted to do something at any cost.
The recruiting sergeant, who was an old friend of his, gave him the following advice:
"I don't mind taking you if you particularly wish to work with us, but you must look out for some occupation with no danger attached to it. The campaign is fatiguing; we'll give you something in the writing business."
Gregorics was wounded in his pride.
"I intend accepting only the most dangerous employment," he said; "now which do you consider the most dangerous?"