Slovak Novels in English #30: Kept by a Mighty Hand

Kristína Royová, Kept by a Mighty Hand, trans. Charles Lukesh (Willow River, MN: n.p., 1945 [1921]), 80 pp.

With this book we are continuing our way through Kristína Royová’s extensive canon—far more extensive in Slovak than English, but she remains by a large margin the most-translated of Slovak authors. V pevnej ruke or Kept by a Mighty Hand is another translation produced by Charles Lukesh, whose backstory I ferreted out and reported on here. I presume this to be a self-published book—there’s no publisher information or even a WorldCat entry.

Though originally published in 1921, thus a few years after the end of the First World War, the story clearly reflects the prewar period—not only on account of the utter absence of destruction that said war brought on the Balkans but also because of its use of intact aristocratic estates. A few clues indicate that the action is set mainly in the Kingdom of Croatia-Slavonia, as it was then known, a product of ongoing turmoil in the political Kingdom of Hungary after the expulsion of the Ottomans.

More specifically, the two estates in question are located “across the bend of the Danube into Slavonia,” the latter being the easternmost, inland area of Croatia. The protagonist is called Michael Hodolich, the English rendering of Hodolič, which is in turn the Slovak rendering of Hodolić, a surname from that very part of Croatia, centered on the city of Ilok, which indeed sits on the Danube. Michael inherits the Hodolich estate, located not far from Orlov or “Eagle Castle”—note that Ilok has an impressive castle on the hill—and it is said more than once that the principals speak “Horwat,” which oddly enough is the Polish word for “Croatian” (Hrvatski in Croatian itself, chorvátsky in Slovak). I have no idea what possessed Lukesh to use this word, as “Croatian” has existed in English since the 1540s! The only Polish connection in the book is that Lady Zamojsky of Eagle Castle “was married to a Polish nobleman and lived many years in London, where he was ambassador.” Royová adds, “There, also, she left the church of Rome,” a point that probably pleased Lukesh since he was, unfortunately, involved in an “Away from Rome” society in his native Czech Lands.

As you can no doubt tell, I enjoyed excavating these details from passing clues in the book, in part because it seems so absolutely unremarkable to the author that there would be so many languages and nations represented, reflecting the fluidity of the Austro-Hungarian empire in its various iterations before the nation-state fixed firm borders with aspirations of ethnic purity. (N.B. Not far from Bratislava there is a village called Chorvátsky Grob, which means “Croatian Grave,” where Croatians settled starting in the sixteenth century and buried soldiers, hence the name.)

And I’ve only reported half of it. Michael and his sort-of wife (of which more shortly) Olga are evidently both Slovak. They can speak Slovak to each other, presumably don’t most of the time, and the linchpin of their emotionally complex plot is a trip to the Tatras in Slovakia (at that time more like “Upper Hungary”—it’s contrasted with the “lowlands” of Hungary and Croatia), which has a transformative effect on both. Moreover, Michael has spent time in both Brazil and North America, while Olga has visited England under the care of Lady Zamojsky. Such cosmpolitanism is presented as an ordinary marker of education and manners, not one of extraordinary privilege.

My secondhand copy bears an inscription from “Mrs. W. O. Andrews + Mary + Carrie.” Lukesh’s introduction notes, “The translator wishes to acknowledge the devoted help of the Andrew [sic] sisters, Carrie and Mary, who have kindly co-labored on the manuscript.” No, it’s not those Andrews sisters.

But—on with the plot. The setup is a bit artificial, as befits what is essentially a romance. Michael’s father has cheated Olga’s father out of his rightful share of an inheritance, which may have led to his untimely death. In a fit of deathbed remorse he begs Michael to marry Olga in order to endow her with what is rightfully hers. Evidently just handing over the cash would raise too many questions and thereby sully the family name, so Michael consents, but grudgingly. His bride is not even sixteen years old, ugly, badly dressed, unschooled, silent, and uninteresting. He makes it clear that the marriage respects the wishes of his father but she is not to expect love, attention, or “the rights of a wife” from him. And then he promptly splits town for Brazil.

Well, as you can no doubt imagine, the plot pretty much writes itself from there. Several kindly mentors intervene in Michael’s absence to make a swan out of the ugly duckling. Michael returns home astounded by the change in Olga and not a little guilty as his treatment of her. Olga, for her part, is ashamed of who she once was and can’t blame Michael for finding her repugnant—but still, it hurts. In the meanwhile she’s found a vocation as a pharmacist for Lady Zamojsky’s charitable hospital and also found out the truth about how Michael agreed to marry her purely to hand over the money—which she is determined to refuse. Multiple awkward conversations and one healing trip to Slovakia later, the two manage to reach mutual understanding, confess and forgive, and eventually come to live together as husband and wife should.

Click on the cover to order your copy of my memoir on Amazon!

However, this is not just a romance. It’s a Christian romance, a work of piety in keeping with all of Royová’s other works. Which you might think would ruin the already slightly silly story, but in fact it adds a layer of emotional complexity that once again surprised and impressed me.

Because here’s the thing—during their six-year separation, both Michael and Olga have become professing Christians. It’s exactly this new religious status that gives Michael his out! He has read in I Corinthians 7:15, “But if the unbelieving partner separates, let it be so. In such cases the brother or sister is not enslaved. God has called you to peace.” Michael interprets this to mean that since he is now a real Christian, he can let Olga go with a clean conscience, since she isn’t. As the narrator remarks, “Just here he did not come to his Bible in a teachable spirit, and so he twisted its meaning to suit his own thoughts. Olga and he, he reasoned, had never really been united and did not truly belong to each other. And, for him, was not all the past washed in the blood of the Son of God?”

But then—horrors—it turns out that Olga also has become a real Christian, which means his casuistry is invalidated. She likewise is a little shocked at the change in him and wonders if she has to submit to him as a wife to a husband. After all, they are married, and they’re Christian married people, at that.

Michael is rather bowled over at how beautiful and accomplished Olga has become, and though he is determined to do right by her and let her go if she so wishes, he also finds himself drawn to her. She cares for him tenderly as he suffers a bout of malaria. But then, Olga explains, her kindness to him is “for Christ’s sake,” which causes Michael to infer that “[a]ll her conduct toward me is but an act of magnificent Christian revenge! She wants to shine before me as a model of unexcelled perfection. The higher she rises the lower I sink.”

The rest of the story sorts through the various claims of love shared between all Christian people and the unique love, still in Christ, between married people. Both have a lot of growing up to do, both emotionally and spiritually. Of course, they all live happily ever after.

One final interesting detail is that upon their recommitment to each other, Michael decides to sell off the Hodolich estate that has caused them both so much grief and invest all the proceeds into the hospital where, importantly, Olga can continue to work as pharmacist. Presumably the charitable entrepreneur Royová, though herself never married, was trying to sketch out a world where faithful Christian women could take on the role of wife and worker at the same time.