CHAPTER XIX

ESAIAS MEDVeSI[110]

[Footnote 110: Bearish.]

It fared with Wenceslaus Kvatopil as I had predicted.

I am very sorry, but I really can't help it. Willingly would I bring him back a full major if it depended on me; but it was written in the book of fate that the worthy officer was to end his heroic career on the battle-field. He had at least the consolation of falling in a famous battle. While MacMahon at Solferino broke through the ma.s.s of Schlick's forces, Benedek on the right wing pressed victoriously forwards and drove the Piedmontese army under Victor Emmanuel as far back as San Martino, and there it was that a mortal bullet struck Captain Kvatopil through the heart. Yet I am able to say that at that moment the kisses of his lovely wife pressed the lips of n.o.body but his own deserted daughter.

The two widows could now share the widow's veil between them in peace.

The bigamy became known, but of course they could not bring an action for it against a dead man. The events of those great days quickly obliterated all recollection of the petty scandal. Both Anna and Bessy could now a.s.sume the t.i.tle of Widow Kvatopil, and n.o.body could have a word to say against it. There was this little difference, however, that while the one might style herself Mrs. Captain Kvatopil, the other had only the right to Mrs. Lieutenant.

By the intervention of her lawyer, and with my consent as her guardian, Bessy recovered her deposited caution-money. One thousand florins of it she gave as a gift to Anna, who returned with it to Cracow to her father's. The rest of the money Bessy invested in a pretty little house, in the village where she was stopping, surrounded by a pleasant garden.

I was now quite easy in my mind as to her subsequent fate. She had now her own house, an honourable t.i.tle--"_ozvegy Kapitanyne_,"[111] and a certain regular income. In the little village where she was she could play a leading part. In her present situation, moreover, she was completely protected against all the snares of the evil world, for in this particular village every man was virtuous, and the women ruled them with a rod of iron. To stumble, make a _faux pas_, and fall into sin was not possible, because it was not allowed.

[Footnote 111: Lit., The widowed Captain's lady.]

I could now be quite easy as to Bessy's prospects. A woman who had learnt such bitter experience at her own cost could not help drawing conclusions from the past; and if ever she were to make her choice again she certainly would not allow herself to be led astray by superficial graces, but would judge him whom she might definitely and finally select as the partner of her destiny by his inner worth alone. I even took the trouble, with the true solicitude of a guardian, to write this beautiful and sensible phrase to her in a letter. I also impressed upon her not to give herself away to any official "for the time being,"

or any other kind of dog-headed Tartar, for such a husband could only be provisional.[112] She gave me her word that she would not do so.

[Footnote 112: Towards this period it was plain that the Austrian domination of Hungary could not last much longer, and that the foreign officials who had been appointed by the Vienna Court must speedily go.--TR.]

For nearly four years I heard nothing more of Bessy. She had fallen into the ranks of those women who do nothing to make people talk about them, and this category is the best of all. Every year I sent her the interest on her money; she acknowledged the receipt of it with thanks, and--that was all.

But I, too, had cause enough not to think of those lovely but dangerous Eyes like the Sea.

My evil stars were in the ascendant.

Not a year pa.s.sed without a heavy blow descending on my head. At one time it was a dear dead friend whom I had to bury; at another time I had to go through a severe illness which brought me to the very brink of death; I had scarcely recovered when my wife also fell dangerously ill.

Through the conduct of persons whom I had regarded as my friends I very nearly became bankrupt; I had to work day and night at my writing-table to draw myself out of the mire. Then my publisher bolted to America; then came a year of calamity, when n.o.body cared a fig for either books or newspapers; then I had to fight a duel through no fault of my own; and all along there was the wretched fate of my country, which demanded my help. The whole plan of winning back our confiscated liberties was _my_ secret; I was the organ of the Committee, the organ that was tormented, persecuted, insulted by a derisive tyranny. Life under such conditions was like a dreadful dream--an incoherent, continually shifting vision of hope, an eternal nightmare; and when I awoke from this nightmare I found I was quite bald.

One fine spring the Fairy Queen of my fantastic dreams locked me up in prison by way of variation. n.o.body can escape his fate. I had founded a political journal. I was its responsible editor and publisher. My a.s.sistants were the votadores of the Liberal party. We soon had a large public. I had quite enough to do. It was my business to write romances for this paper, and leading articles too. Once an admirably elaborated article was sent to me, signed by one of the most ill.u.s.trious names among the Hungarian magnate families. Without more ado I published it.

It was a loyal, patriotic article on purely const.i.tutional lines, showing in the most matter of fact way in the world the justice and the necessity of a const.i.tutional government for Hungary. On account of this article, the Governor brought both the Count who wrote it and the editor who inserted it before a court-martial. He signified to the pair of us beforehand that he meant to lock us up for three months for it.

The court-martial consisted of a colonel, a major, a captain, a senior and a junior lieutenant, a sergeant, a corporal, and a private; the last four were Bohemians. Before this Areopagus I delivered a powerful defence in German, to which they naturally replied "March!" The tribunal condemned me and my comrade the Count to twelve months hard labour in irons, on bread and water, with enforced fasting, loss of n.o.bility, and a fine of a thousand florins.

When the sentence was read out, I said to the President:

"This is very strange. The Governor promised us only three months."

To this the President replied with a smile:

"Yes, three months for the incriminated article, but nine more for your high-flying defence."

Our sentence was for no offence against the press-laws. Oh dear, no! We were condemned for inciting to a breach of the peace. The Count and I had been throwing stones at the windows, and breaking the gas-lamps in Kerepesi Street! It was as public brawlers that we were sent to cool our heels in jail!

The reader must not expect me, however, to weave a martyr's crown for myself, or describe the tortures of the Venetian dungeons.... The whole of my life in prison was a pure joke and diversion. The Commandant of the place, with whom I lived, used to come every day to tell and be told anecdotes, and then took me out for country walks. He had my writing-table, my books, and my carpentering tools brought into my dungeon, and it was there that I turned out a bust of my wife. The Commandant also was pa.s.sionately fond of carpenter's work, so we worked away together at our lathes as if for a wager. There was no talk whatever of chains or fetters, and I was allowed to have with my bread and water the best that money could purchase from the inn. In the afternoons my friends from the Pest Club came to play cards with me, so that when, on one occasion, one of my most radical acquaintances, Beniczky, entered my apartment and looked around, he exclaimed with contemptuous indignation: "Call this a dungeon! Why, there's no romance at all about this sort of thing!"

Once I took my fellow-prisoner and my jailer to my villa at Svabhegy, where my wife had made ready for us a splendid supper. I tapped my new wine, and we amused ourselves to such a very late hour that when we returned they would hardly let us into prison again. Fortunately we had the Provost with us, and with our a.s.sistance he managed to force his way in.

And then my visitors!

In the whole course of my life I never received so many visitors as during the _month_ that my _year's_ captivity lasted. In the following month, by the way, I had to make room for the editor of the _officious_ government, who was also condemned by the court-martial for disturbing the public peace.

I was sought out in my dungeon by all sorts of good friends, who came from far--lords and ladies, countesses and actresses. It happened once that a magnate's wife, who was a great invalid, and therefore could not ascend to the second flight where our prison was, begged us to come down to her carriage, and there we received our visitor in the street--poor slaves that we were!

In fact, I had too much of a good thing.

How could I work when my admirers were crowding at my latch all day long? At last I had to beg my jailer, with tears in my eyes, to sentence me to _solitary_ confinement for a couple of hours every day, and write on my door the hours when I was free to receive company. "Wasn't I in prison?" I said.

I had an honest Bohemian lad as my servant. His name was Wenceslaus. We soon got to understand each other very well.

I explained to him that at certain hours when I was sitting down to work n.o.body was to be admitted--except when a pretty woman came to see me.

_Honi soit qui mal y pense!_

And singularly enough, one cannot imagine a more convenient place for an a.s.signation than such a dungeon as mine. I only wonder that our _bon-viveurs_ have not grasped the fact. And what a capital place for an afternoon nap such a locality really is! The best advice I can give to any one who suffers from sleeplessness is--get yourself locked up! Is it not a special mercy of Providence that slaves can sleep so soundly?

One afternoon Wenceslaus aroused me from my sweet afternoon nap with the intimation that a pretty woman wanted to speak to me.

"Really pretty?"

"Oh yes!"

"Oh yes?"

"Oh yes, yes!"

It was indeed "oh yes!" for it was Bessy.

She was dressed in complete mourning, with a black silk veil over her head. I saw from her eyes that she was in mourning for my fate.

I antic.i.p.ated her by making her a compliment.

"Why, how nice you look, my dear ward! The country air seems to agree with you."

With this I put a stop to her tearful anxiety on my account.

"I see that the air of a dungeon has not done you much harm, either."

"And how did you get in here?"

"Not very easily, I can tell you. They would hardly let me in. They said that the prisoner was confined to his room. I thought of giving the warder a box on the ears, and then perhaps they would have shut me up along with you by way of punishment."

"That would have, indeed, been a _heavy_ chain to bear."