With the illustrated supplement to the third number, however, they were quite satisfied. It was Rosa Laborfalvy[15] as Queen Gertrude, by Barabás, a work of real artistic merit. This interested the ladies greatly.
[15] Jókai's future wife, as will be seen in the sequel.
"They say she has such wonderful eyes that there's nothing like them anywhere," said Miss Bessy.
The logical consequence of this should have been a contradiction accompanied by a flattering compliment on my part; but all at once it was as if something so squeezed my throat that I absolutely could not get the courtly expression out anyhow. "I have never seen her," I replied.
At the end of the fourth number was a lithograph representing a slim, youthful figure, and beneath it was written the name, Alexander Petöfi. It was one of the best sketches of Barabás. It is the one absolutely faithful portrait of the immortal poet. As such he was known by all those who lived with him, that eye gazing forth into the far distance, that mouth opened prophetically, those hands crossed behind him as if he would hide something in them. The whole portrait seems to say, "I will be Petöfi"; all the other portraits say, "I am Petöfi."
This picture produced a great impression upon the ladies, for the appearance of a lithographed portrait in a journal was a great event. In those days there were none of the beneficent penny papers, whose right of existence is considered amply justified if the frontispiece represents some one battering an old woman's head in with an axe. Only great and famous patriots enjoyed the distinction of figuring on title-pages, and photography was not yet invented.... The appearance, then, of Petöfi's portrait in an illustrated supplement of the Divatlap created quite a sensation.... The companion at once undertook to read the book of verses which had been sent to the house by me. Bessy, on the other hand, desired to know whether she would find anything of mine in the portion of the journal devoted to the Belles-Lettres. Immediately afterwards she actually hit upon it. It was a portion of my romance, which appeared there under the title of "Az ingovány oáza"—"The Oasis of the Fens."
"Well, I mean to read this at once."
I gave her plenty of time to do so, for I only appeared again after the lapse of several days.
She really had read it. It was the first thing she told me.
"Now I am curious to know," she added, "what was the beginning of the story and what will be the end? You know, don't you?"