Timar's Two Worlds

by Mór Jókai

Now his journey had an object—no great or important one, but still an object. It was to give a pleasure to two poor people—but a real joy.

The weather had changed; the sky had cleared, and the sun shone warmly down below. In Hungary, where summer follows immediately on winter, these swift changes are common. Below Baja the face of the country, too, was changed. While Michael rushed southward with frequent changes of horses, it was as if nature had in one day advanced by many weeks. At Mohacs he was received by woods decked in new green; about Zambor the fields were spread with a verdant carpet; at Neusatz the meadows were already dressed with flowers; and in the plains of Pancsova golden stretches of rape smiled at him, and the hills looked as though covered with rosy snow—the almonds and cherry-trees were in blossom. The two days' journey was like a dream-picture. The day before yesterday snow-covered fields in Komorn, and to-day on the Lower Danube hedges in bloom!

Michael alighted at the Levetinczy castle to spend the night. He gave his instructions to the bailiff on the day of his arrival; the next morning he got up early, entered the carriage, and drove to the Danube to inspect his cargo ships. Everything was in order. Our Herr Johann Fabula had been appointed overseer of the whole flotilla: there was nothing for him to do. "Our gracious master can go and shoot ducks."

And Herr von Levetinczy followed this good advice of Herr Fabula. He had a boat brought, and ordered provisions for a week, his gun, and plenty of ammunition to be put in it. No one will be surprised if he does not return from the reed-bed, now full of prime water-fowl, before a week has elapsed. It storms with duck, snipe, and herons, the last only valued for their feathers; even pelicans are to be met with, and an Egyptian ibis has been shot there. It is said a flamingo was once seen. When an ardent sportsman once gets into those marshes, you may wait till he comes out! And Timar loved sport, like all sailors. This time Michael did not load his gun. He let his boat float down with the stream till he reached the point of the Ostrova Island—there he seized the sculls and crossed the Danube obliquely. When he got round the island he soon saw where he was. From the southern reed-beds rose the tops of the well-known poplars—thither he went. There was already a channel broken through the rushes, across and along as required, if you only understood it. Where Michael had once been, he could find his way in the dark. What would Almira and Narcissa be doing? What should they be doing in such lovely weather but gratifying their passion for sport? Only, however, within certain limits: the field-mouse must be pursued at night, and that is easy for Narcissa, but she is strictly forbidden to chase birds. To Almira the marmots which came across the ice and settled in the island are positively interdicted. Aquatic prey still remain, and that is good sport too. Almira wades into the pure, clear water among the heaps of great stones at the bottom, and cautiously puts her fore-paw into a hole, out of which something dark is peeping. Suddenly she makes a great jump, draws her foot back, limps whining out of the water on three legs, and on the fourth paw hangs a large black crab, which has caught hold with its claws. Almira hobbles along in despair till, on reaching the bank, she succeeds in shaking off the dangerous monster; it is then carefully inspected by both Almira and Narcissa, to see at what price it can be induced to allow its body to be deprived of the shell. The crab naturally does not quite see the fun of this, and retires with all speed backward to the water. The two sportsmen, however, shove the reactionary party forward with their paws, until at one shove it is turned on its back, and now all three are in doubt what to do next—Almira, Narcissa, and the crab.

Almira's attention is suddenly attracted by another object. She hears a noise and scents something. A friend approaches by water; she does not bark at him, but utters a low growl. This is her way of laughing, like some cheery old gentleman. She recognizes the man in the boat. Michael springs out, fastens the boat to a willow stump, pats Almira's head, and asks her, "Well, then, how is it all? is it all well?" The dog replied many things, but in the Newfoundland-dog language. To judge by the tone, the answer is satisfactory.

Then all at once a pitiful cry disturbs the pleasant greeting. The catastrophe which might have been foreseen has occurred. Narcissa came near enough to the upset and sprawling crab for it to catch her ear with its nippers, and then to bury all its six claws in her fur. Timar rushed to the scene of misfortune, and with great presence of mind, seeing the magnitude of the danger, seized the mailed criminal in a place where its weapons could not reach him, pressed its head between his strong fingers, and obliged it to let go its prey; then he dashed it with such force on to a stone that it was shattered, and gave up its black ghost. Narcissa, to show her gratitude, sprung on to the shoulder of her chivalrous deliverer, and snorted from there at her dead enemy.

After this introductory deed of heroism, Timar busied himself in disembarking what he had brought with him. All are packed into a knapsack, which he can easily throw over his shoulder. But the gun, the gun! Almira can not abide him with a gun in his hand, but he can not leave it here, for it might easily be stolen by some one. What to do? The idea struck Timar to give it into Almira's charge, who then, in her leonine jaws, carried the weapon proudly before him as a poodle bears its master's cane. Narcissa sat on his shoulder and purred in his ear. Michael allowed Almira to go on before and show him the way.

Timar felt transformed when he trod the turfy paths of the island. Here was holy rest and deepest solitude. The fruit-trees of this paradise are in bloom; between their white and rosy flower-pyramids wild roses arch their sprays; the golden sunbeams coax the flowers' fragrance into the air; the breeze is laden with it—with every breath one inhales gold and love. The forest of blossom is full of the hum of the bees, and in that mysterious sound, from all these flower-eyes, God speaks, God looks: it is a temple of the Lord. And that church music may not be wanting, the nightingale flutes his psalm of lament, and the lark trills his song of praise—only better than King David. At a spot where the purple lilacs parted, and the little island-home was visible, Michael stood spell-bound. The little house seemed to swim in a flaming sea, but not of water, only of roses. It was covered with rose-wreaths climbing to the roof, and for five acres round it only roses were visible—thousands of bushes, and six-foot rose-trees, forming pyramids, hedges, and arcades. It was a rose-forest, a rose-mountain, a rose-labyrinth, whose splendor dazzled the eye and spread afar a scent which surrounded one like a supernatural atmosphere.

Hardly had Michael entered on the winding path through this wilderness of roses, before a melodious cry of joy was heard. His name was called. "Ah, Herr Timar!"

And she who had uttered his name came running toward him. Timar had already recognized her by her voice: it was Noémi—little Noémi, whom he had not seen for nearly three years. How she had grown since then—how changed, how developed she was! Her dress was no longer neglected, but neat, though simple. In her rich golden hair a rose-bud was fastened.