"Then we began quoting to each other the various n.o.ble traits that we had mutually discovered in Kvatopil's character...."

--"Well, did you find the pig's ears with beans to your liking, sir?"

inquired the cook of me at that moment, as she came in to change the dishes.

"On my word of honour as a poet, I have never tasted such pig's ears and beans," I replied.

An apricot pasty followed, of which--I confess it freely--I am also fond.

Bessy then continued her story:--

"I went to my lawyer, put my case before him, and asked him what he advised me to do in my situation. I applied to him first (a dry, prosaic man, with his mental vision bounded by the law); after that, I wanted to lay the matter before you, that you might judge between us."

"Between whom?"

"Between me and my lawyer, for we are of diametrically opposite views as to what I ought to do next."

"Then you have a view on the subject, too?"

"Of course I have; but listen first to the view of the man learned in the law, and before you do that, let us drink to the health of those we love, and those who love us."

We drank the toast accordingly, but we mentioned no names.

"And now listen to the opinion of the lawyer:--

"'It is a great misfortune, certainly,' he said, 'but the only person to suffer will be Anna Dunkircher. If we lived in ordinary peaceful times, the business might be settled by the military authorities compelling Lieutenant Wenceslaus Kvatopil to renounce his rank by marrying contrary to the regulations. In that case the marriage contracted with Anna Dunkircher would remain valid. On the other hand, according to the tenor of the Austrian criminal law, Mr. Kvatopil would then have the pleasant prospect of two years' imprisonment for the subsequently committed crime of bigamy. Nevertheless, under our present circ.u.mstances, when the army of Lombardy has great need of every valiant and experienced officer, the Cracow wife would, undoubtedly, get this answer for her trouble: "Your marriage has been contracted illegally, and is consequently null and void." The parson who joined them would be sent for a twelvemonth to a monastery, by way of penitential discipline; but Wenceslaus Kvatopil would remain a lieutenant, or even, if he distinguished himself, become a captain. You, consequently, will be Mrs. Lieutenant, and perhaps Mrs.

Captain, for the annulling of the former marriage will restore to you all your rights.'

"Those were the lawyer's words. I laid them to heart. Now, do you know anything of martial law?"

"I frankly confess that martial law occupies a most prominent place among those sciences which I do _not_ know."

"Well, I'll tell you what I replied to him. 'Good!' I said, 'the laws, the circ.u.mstances, the position of things, everything, in fact, proves and proves to demonstration that Anna Dunkircher has forfeited all her marital rights; but has not the law of the human heart also its validity? Do I express myself in proper legal phraseology?'"

At this I couldn't help laughing, but she proceeded with her story.

"My lawyer was very far indeed from laughing. 'What!' said he, 'do you imagine that Wenceslaus Kvatopil's heart still beats for his first wife whom he deserted--to whom he did not write of set purpose, not even when he could, lest he might thus have supplied some written testimony to the fact of her really having been Wenceslaus Kvatopil's lawful spouse, and not merely some betrayed girl with whom he had, at some time or other, unlawfully cohabited? Do you fancy that Wenceslaus Kvatopil, thirteen years after the event, is still so romantic as to ask for his dismissal from the service in the middle of a campaign, on the very field of battle, and desert the standard of his Sovereign, whom he has sworn to obey, simply to enable Anna Dunkircher to save her matronly dignity? Do you fancy that Wenceslaus Kvatopil will throw up his career at the very moment when it is full of the most brilliant hopes for him, and allow himself to be shut up as a felon for a couple of years, at the end of which time he will be discharged a branded beggar, simply to live for the rest of his life as the lawful husband of a beggar woman even more beggarly than himself? And finally, do you imagine that Wenceslaus Kvatopil has so completely lost the use of his five senses as to be capable of spurning away from him, and exposing to the contempt of the whole world, a young and lovely consort like yourself, a rich and n.o.ble lady who can keep him in comfort for the rest of his days--and all for what? for the sake of taking back a faded, withered woman, whose face is wrinkled with care, who is the daughter of an honest glover, to whom it would be no advantage to stick the name of Kvatopil on his sign-board instead of the time-honoured firm of Dunkircher? No, madam. That he is such a good-hearted man as all that I do not for one moment believe. I would as soon believe in sea-maidens with finny tails--upon my word I would.'

"I did not interrupt my lawyer. I allowed him to have his say out. But when he made a brief pause, I said to him: 'I am not speaking of Kvatopil's heart, but of my own.'

"'Your own?' cried he, in amazement. 'What has _your_ heart got to do with it?'

"'I have my own notion of settling this painful business,' I said. 'I propose to transfer to Anna Dunkircher the surety-money which I deposited on the occasion of our marriage, and then she will have satisfied the conditions imposed on officers who marry--and may she and her husband be happy. I can easily disappear somewhere in the crowd. The world is large.'

"At this the lawyer flew into a pa.s.sion. 'If you do that,' he cried, 'you are only fit to be locked up in a lunatic asylum at Dobling.'

"Nevertheless," concluded Bessy, "it is my serious and fixed resolve to do so."

I could not help laying my hand on hers. What true, what n.o.ble sentiments were slumbering in that heart! If only she had had some one to awaken them! What an excellent lady might have been made out of this woman, if she had only met with a husband who, in the most ordinary acceptance of the word, had been a good fellow, as is really the case with about _nine_ men out of every ten. Why should she have always managed to draw the unlucky _tenth_ out of the urn of destiny?

She guessed my thoughts during that moment of silence. Those large, deep fiery eyes slowly filled with tears. The fire of a diamond is nothing to be compared with the fiery sparkle of those tears. How lovely she was at that moment!

Her lips began to quiver, and she could scarcely p.r.o.nounce the words:

"_That other woman had a child._"

And at this she began to sob convulsively, covering her face with one hand, and squeezing my hand violently with the other.

My heart was so touched that, a very little more, and I should have mingled my tears with hers.

When she had wept out her bitter mood, she sighed deeply, and dried her tears.

"Now you know why I asked you to come here," said she. "Be you the judge in this matter. Which is right, the reason or the heart? Am I to do what my lawyer advises, or what my own feelings suggest?"

It was a difficult matter.

"Let us see," I said, "can't we hit upon some middle course? I advise you neither to do what your lawyer advises nor what you yourself propose. Wait a bit. The great war is still going on, more than a million of warriors are standing face to face. Not a fifth part of that number will return to their homes when the war is over. In this war your Kvatopil will either fall or remain alive. If he falls, you can both go into mourning. You need not quarrel about the widow's veil. If, however, Kvatopil survives the end of the war, a brave and ambitious officer like him will undoubtedly have mounted higher on the ladder of promotion--the battle-field is the forcing house of advancement! He will have become a major, and as major he will not be required to deposit[109] any matrimonial caution-money. He can then take his Anna Dunkircher, and you will have no need to surrender your guarantee money, which you want very much yourself."

[Footnote 109: I say this of past times.--M. J.]

"I thank you," said the lady. "'Tis every bit as simple as the egg of Columbus. Then we'll wait, Anna and I, till the war is over, and till then we'll make one family."

"Let me call your attention to one thing, however. For the present it would be well if you were to hide yourself somewhere, in some little town, for instance, where n.o.body knows you. Here, in this capital, you will quickly find yourself in an awkward and untenable position. The story of the first wife will very quickly be known by all the world. The t.i.tle of _straw-widow_ would do pretty well perhaps, but the t.i.tle of _straw-wife_ won't do at all. Pack up your traps, I say, go straight off to the country to-morrow, and take your guests along with you."

"I'll do so."

We had scarcely finished speaking when the doctor knocked at the door.

When there's sickness in the house one cannot deny oneself to the doctor. The doctor, too, was an old acquaintance of mine. He had a very extensive practice, and he was a h.o.m.opathist. I could take it as absolutely certain that when he went his rounds among his patients on the morrow, he would let them have, in addition to their _nux vomica_, or whatever else it might be, the very latest bit of scandal--to wit, that he had found me closeted with the pretty lady, and both of us in our cups--tea-cups of course.

I waited till he came back from his little patient. He satisfied us that there was now no danger, and she might leave her bed.

Bessy asked whether the girl might be taken into the country.

"Yes, it will do her good."

The doctor and I left at the same time.

I had no sooner got out of the door than I again stumbled upon Toni Sagi.

"_Corpo di Bacco!_ And you have been sitting all this time with that pretty young lady?"

"And you have been walking all the time in front of the door, eh?"

The window of the house opposite was full of inquisitive female faces. I rushed into a coach and had myself driven to the railway station. The same evening I was at Szeged. There I remained for three days, and stayed with my wife till her provincial engagement was over. On every one of these three days one or two anonymous letters reached my wife from Buda-Pest of the following import: "My poor dear friend,--Your husband pa.s.ses whole nights and days with his former lady-love, the lieutenant's wife. Our hearts bleed for you. The whole town knows all about it."

How we did laugh at these letters! But what if I had _not_ traversed the intentions of our _dear friends_?