He took leave of his acquaintances; he had no friends. He told them they need not be afraid, he would do himself no injury. He was simply dying of grief, just as a man might die of sickness.

All gone!

Some compa.s.sionate souls had pity on the old man and took him home. If he had been alone he had never found his own house. Once arrived there, he insisted on going down to his cellar, to see with his own eyes if it were not some hideous dream, from which he would wake and find his beloved casks in their old places. When he saw all were gone, he set up a fearful cry, "Fool! fool! fool!" and fell forward on his face.

They carried him up-stairs, tenderly undressed him as if he were a child, and put him to bed. He shrieked for a priest, so they fetched him one. He made his confession, and received the sacrament.

His lawyer then appeared on the scene, and his last will was written out and duly signed. He had still something to leave. There were his houses, the whole street front; the church into which no one came, on whose threshold between the stones the gra.s.s grew thick, in whose court-yard the school-boys played ball on Thursday half-holidays.

The church, notwithstanding, was endowed with a priest, a verger, and a bell-ringer. The priest should say ma.s.s, the bell-ringer should ring the bell, the verger should open the door _every day_; just as a hundred years ago, when through the open church doors a stream of men pa.s.sed, with silver b.u.t.tons on their jackets, and women with long silk veils. The old man now dying is the last descendant left on this earth of the old Greek traders. The church shall remain standing in memory of them.

The house next door to his own he bequeathed to the widow, who was the daughter of the last Greek. This woman and he had quarrelled long ago.

G.o.d alone can decide the justice of a quarrel that has to do with paper money, which to-day is worth a great deal and to-morrow not a penny. Therefore, he bequeathed to her and her son the heap of cursed, worthless papers called shares in the Bondavara Company, which have caused his unexpected death. They shall have these papers, whether for good or ill.

After he had made these depositions and arranged his affairs his will was sealed and inscribed by himself. He divided among his neighbors and servants his few remaining possessions. He called the bell-ringer, and enjoined him to toll the bell three times every two hours, and if any one asked the reason why, he should answer, "The Greek, Csanta, is dead." Then he sent every one out of the room.

When next morning they returned he was dead. He had died of grief, just as an aged husband will not survive the loss of his wife with whom he had grown old. So a man with a strong will dies when he has said that he can no longer support life.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE GROUND BURNS UNDER HIS FEET

Peter Saffran's curse seemed likely to be fulfilled: "Upon this field no gra.s.s shall grow for evermore."

It was true the green gra.s.s grew still upon the field, but who could tell what was seething underneath, in the bosom of the earth?

The directors of the company's mine believed that when they closed all the entrances and openings to the shafts and vaults, they had given, by so doing, a check to the conflagration; by preventing the current of the outer air from getting in, they felt sure the fire must in a short time be extinguished.

On the other hand, there was the irremediable evil that the supply of coal gradually diminished; even the necessary material for keeping the forge heated was wanting. They tried to heat it with wood--there were plenty of trees in the forest--but without coal the heater would not work, and much iron was lost in consequence. Instead of iron bars, a great quant.i.ty of "rammers" lay scattered about. It was soon patent that, from all these causes combined, the company were not in a condition to fulfil their contract for supplying the railway contractors with iron rails. The guarantee was in danger, as was also that of the railway company, in case the railway could not be opened for traffic at the time promised in their agreement.

The Bondavara Mine Company and Railway Company were, so to speak, glued to one another; one could hardly take a step without dragging the other down the dangerous path on which both were going headlong to ruin.

Being in such evil straits, the directors began to look for help to the other mine. Coal they must have. In Ivan Behrend's colliery there must be a large supply. For a whole year he had sold none. They must buy from him, even at an advanced price.

Raune also bethought himself of begging for coal from the same source.

Surely no one could refuse to oblige an old friend and neighbor.

His letter, however, came back to him with the seal unbroken. At this moment Raune was terribly hard pressed. He resolved to wait upon Ivan, and make his request in person.

His visit was a short one. He was in all less than two seconds in Ivan's room, from which the first thing that issued was his hat, which he followed promptly. After this Ivan's voice was heard.

"I hold no conversation with spies."

Raune wrote the directors a long letter, in which he said that Behrend was a boorish, selfish man, who was determined to profit by the misfortune which had happened to the Bondavara mine, and would not give his coal at _any_ price; instead of selling, he was using it in the manufacture of a quant.i.ty of iron rails, and speculating on the chance that the company would be forced to buy at any sum he chose to ask.

The result of his letter was very different from what he had looked for. The railway directors wrote at once to Ivan, and made him an advantageous offer for his iron rails; and if he had asked fifty per cent. more they were prepared to accede to his demand.

The profit for Ivan's faithful workmen was a very full harvest. The deserters to the enemies' camp now implored to be taken on again; they had no work. But they were not received by their former comrades; a committee of the men decided, without a dissentient voice, against taking on one of the deserters, but took on a total stranger. This decision settled the matter, and Ivan was forced to acknowledge it was just. The new member was bound to work for a year as a common laborer, and the committee were not to decide whether he should be admitted to the rights of the existing colony, and ent.i.tled to his share of the profit; this should be put to the vote.

Meantime the work was splendidly done. Each man looked upon the mine as his own property; there were few blunders, and the success was remarkable; neither labor nor time was spared. Order was preserved, discipline maintained, and there was no necessity for harsh measures, nor for overseers.

Under all this fine weather, however, there lurked clouds. In the far distance storms were gathering, evident to an experienced eye.

Ivan noted the coming danger, but he did not let it escape his lips.

It could not be averted. His mine was threatened; the fire that was consuming the neighboring colliery might spread to his. This thought filled his mind by day and by night. From the situation of the coal-stratum he could draw the conclusion that the conflagration must spread to Bondathal. It might take years, but in the end the Bondathal mine would share the same fate as its neighbor of Bondavara, and be reduced to ashes.

The earth has buried many such wrecks in its bosom. But not alone below, but on the earth itself this Bondavara misfortune had ruined a mult.i.tude of people.

In the beginning the board of directors, who administered the affairs of the shareholders, hit upon the idea that with the ready money at their command they would buy up all the shares in the market, and in this way serve a double purpose. In the first place, they would secure for themselves the shares which had been issued at par at a price far below par, and in the next they would check any further fall.

The board, however, by this manuvre only effected a more rapid smash; the money in the treasury dwindled away until at last for the necessary expenses there was nothing left.

Prince Waldemar knew how to make use of the daily papers. He was always ready, and the shares having, through him, fallen thirty per cent. lower, he was resolved to send them still further down. The time was at hand when they would stand at _nil_, and then the owner of these miserable shares would be glad to _offer_ one per cent. to any one who would take them off his hands.

It was a wicked game to play. Thousands were made beggars. The poorer people suffered most--those who a short year ago came with their little savings in their hands, crying to take shares. Poor souls! the high interest had tempted them to their ruin. Ah, it is an old story this, that repeats itself with periodic fidelity; the clerk, the old man, the widow, the old maid, the governess or teacher--these are the victims of this cruel Juggernaut. The cashier who has gambled with his master's money fills in the picture. But there are not wanting others who suffer, but are not reduced altogether to want. Solid tradesmen are crippled, people who drove their carriages have to walk, lovers whose wedding-day was fixed have to wait, and sometimes pine away in single blessedness. Woe! woe! on every side.

But the Bondavara catastrophe had ruined not alone poor and well-to-do people; it had dragged down in its fall the high and powerful family of Bondavary, one of the most ancient in Hungary. The Marquis Salista had learned a severe lesson; he found that you cannot take away the centrepiece of a building without endangering the whole edifice. The sequestration of the prince's property had drawn the whole body of creditors upon him. And so it came to pa.s.s that the large property of a great n.o.bleman, a reigning prince, fell under the administration of his creditors; the heirs had really burned the ground under their own feet.

If the stewards and agents in the prince's time had been thieves, the administration of the property by the creditors was the very realization of plunder on all sides.

The result was disastrous so far as the Countess Theudelinde was in question; there was no one responsible, so it appeared, for her forty thousand pounds. All the family charges and mortgages came first on the list of payments. Let her grasp hers--if she could.

The one who suffered most was the Countess Angela. Her husband, Marquis Salista, had from the first lived in the extravagant manner befitting a man who has come into a fortune of twenty millions. It was impossible to induce him to change his ideas. This led to sharp conflicts between the married pair.

On the other side, Angela showed him plainly that she had married him not from liking, but out of pique.

The marquis knew it--and so did Ivan; but he had something else to think of. The ground was burning under _his_ feet.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

CHILD'S PLAY

The concert season was in full swing when the Belenyis received the news that Csanta was dead and had bequeathed to them their former house. If Arpad had been engaged to play a quartet with Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn he would have thrown up his engagement and flown back with railway speed to his old home. His mother was just as eager to be gone as he was. Not a day did they stay; they were off the very same evening.

On their arrival at X---- the magistrate unlocked the door of their old home and gave Madame Belenyi possession. Everything was exactly as they had left it, only the dust of years covered all the pretty things.

Arpad's first thought was to run down to the garden. The magistrate, however, detained him. He had another legacy to make over to him, a large iron case fastened with three iron locks. It contained the Bondavara shares.

"The devil take his shares!" cried Arpad, laughing. "Unluckily it is summer, so we don't want to make a fire."