Raby had said nothing to Fruzsinka of what had happened at the
commission. But when the guest had gone, he brought out his travelling
bag and began to pack up as if for a journey.
"Is it possible you are going on a journey?" asked Fruzsinka
reproachfully, "without telling me? Don't you know that the wife packs
for her husband?"
Raby did not want his wife to guess whither he was bound. So he made her
believe he was only going as far as Tyrnau to take the official
depositions regarding the Szent-Endre affair; though since the
commission had reduced the whole business to such a farce, how to
produce his proofs and, as prosecutor, lay the matter before them at
head-quarters, he hardly knew himself. So he told her he could not take
her with him, because he would have to travel by diligence or in a
peasant's cart, and such a jaunt would be too trying in winter for a
delicate woman.
"Now if I were you, I would not go to Tyrnau; I would rather go straight
to Vienna, and tell the Emperor himself what roguery is going forward
here."
Raby was astounded. This was precisely what he had intended to do, and
the journey to Tyrnau had only been a pretext.
"I would lay the whole plot before him," went on Fruzsinka, "and would
say, 'Sire, send a man in my place who may bring these conspirators to
book, and make an end to their intrigues.'"
Raby began to understand. Then he said aloud: "But I don't know of any
man who would take on such an unthankful business."
"Is it possible that you mean then to go on with the struggle?" asked
Fruzsinka plaintively. "Dearest, I beseech you, think of our position.
We are living among enemies. Those who were not ashamed to set fire to
the wood, to wipe out the proof of their guilt, will not shrink from
burning our own house over our heads. I tremble each time you go out,
and have no peace till I see you again. Every night I dream they have
murdered you. O Raby, the very thought of living among these people
makes me shudder, there are surely no other such vindictive folk on the
face of the earth. Come away from this place. Let us go to Vienna! There
your career is made. Leave this thankless, malevolent people to their
fate!"
Mathias Raby's heart grew suddenly heavy, and a dark misgiving gripped
him in its clutches.
"You would be the first to despise me," he exclaimed, "were I to be
weakened by your words, and quit my post to fly to another country."
"Do you mean then to continue the struggle?"
"It is no question of struggle, but rather of right and wrong and just
punishment," he answered gloomily.
"Ah, well! I suppose it is only womanly weakness that gets the best of
me. Yet I, too, have thought out the whole affair. You mean that the
embezzlements which you have brought to light shall be avenged?"
"Yes, that is what I do mean!"
"Now, has it ever occurred to you that if anyone investigates this
affair, at least a part of the odium which it incurs, may fall on your
wife?"
"How can that be, Fruzsinka?"
"You remember that absurd housekeeping account, don't you?"
"Yes, indeed, the one we all laughed at so heartily. But how would your
name be mentioned in connection with such a business? The items were set
down by the head cook, and the prefect settled the account."
"But everyone knows that it was to my advantage. Now suppose I was
confronted with the prefect and the cook, in the case of a formal
inquiry? Would not it be a disgrace for you?"
"And pray would it not be a disgrace," returned Raby, "if your husband
had to make this confession to the Emperor who sent him: 'Sire, I am no
better than all the others you have sent to right your subjects' wrongs,
and here I have come back to tell you that everywhere in this world
roguery reigns triumphant.' And if he answered me never a word but just
looked at me with those keen eyes of his, what shame should I not feel?
You shrink at being confronted with the prefect, because the least
morsel of the pitch which sticks to him may perchance darken the tip of
your little finger, but you do not blush that I may stand before the
Emperor and say: 'Sire, here is my wife, with whose paint I have daubed
the prefect white.'"
Frau Fruzsinka at this changed her point of attack.
"Remember," she urged, "that if we fly in the face of my uncle, we risk
losing a considerable property."
Now it was Raby's turn.
"You fear the prospect of losing the property, but I tremble at the
chance of your possessing it."
"I do not understand," faltered his wife.
"I quite believe you," returned Raby bitterly.
Fruzsinka dared not pursue this tack further, it was time to try
another. She threw herself on her husband's neck, and gazed with those
wonderful eyes of hers straight into his.
"Raby, did we swear that we would make the people, or ourselves happy,
which was it, dear?"
At those words, and that glance, Raby's heart softened.
What can one advance to those most unanswerable of arguments?
Who will blame Mathias Raby if he weakly gave way then, as many a strong
man had done before him, and threw his half-packed bag into a corner.
And as the temptress had gone so far, now she proceeded still further:
"Now I'll unpack for you," she cried merrily.
Thereupon, she took the hunting-pouch from the wall and carefully filled
it with savoury spiced meat and flaky white bread; then she deftly
replenished the flask with wine, and cried: "Now go and enjoy yourself!
Don't stay mewed up in the house. You are bothered; well, go and get
some sport, and let the fresh air blow the cobwebs away."
And so saying, she helped him on with his shooting coat, and handed him
his gun, and so it fell out that Raby hung up his sword and knapsack,
and went neither to Tyrnau nor to Vienna, but just into the copse to try
and shoot hares. He heard behind him, as he left the house, the merry
song his wife was warbling to herself.
As he sauntered along the street, it occurred to him that up till now he
had not met one of his former acquaintances in the town, nor seen a
single one of his old schoolmates.
But just then, he ran on to a townsman, whose wasted bent frame and
dejected air did not prevent Raby from recognising him as one of his old
contemporaries. The man wore a leathern apron, and carried carpenters'
tools. He returned Raby's greeting politely and was about to shuffle
past him. But the latter stopped him.
"Dacso Marczi! Is it possible? Are you really Marczi? And won't you just
wait that we may have a word together; it is so long since we have
met."
And he seized the limp hand of the stranger and held it fast.
"Oh, I am indeed glad to see your worship again," returned his new-found
friend.
"Never mind 'my worship,' you can leave him out of it," said Raby.
"Didn't we sit beside each other at school, and you would pass me
without a word? Tell me how things are going with you?"
The man looked round to left and right, and in his eyes there lurked a
nameless fear.
"Well, as far as that goes," he began, "but don't let us talk here, it
is not wise to discuss these things in the street."
Raby dropped his hand. "Ah, you are afraid suspicion may rest on you if
you are seen talking to me!"
"It is not that. But I fear, on the contrary, that it might be
unpleasant for you, if you were seen talking to a mere carpenter. I am
just going to look after my mates in the lower town who are putting new
joists to the burned houses. May Heaven bless your efforts to help the
poor people!" added the man in a lower voice.
"Good, I'll go with you," said Raby, "it's all the same to me which way
I take."
"But don't let yourself be drawn into talk with them. They are always
ready to complain, and there are always people ready to repeat all that
is said."
So they walked together down the street--the dapper sportsman, and the
working-man in his leather apron.
Raby well remembered the houses they passed, and their owners, and asked
after the latter.
"Yes, they all live there still, but the houses no longer belong to
them. The magistrate has bought one, the notary another, and Peter
Paprika a third. The original owners are only there as tenants, and now
they have put an execution in the houses."
"And wherefore?"
"For what was owing for tithes."
"And is old Sajtos still there, who used to be so good to us boys when
we came home from school?"
"Yes, indeed, you may see her any Sunday at the church door begging."
"Sajtos begging? Why she was quite a well-to-do woman. What has happened
to her?"
"Oh, the old story, 'bad times.' There are many more who have come to
beggary in the same way. Just go any Sunday morning past the door of the
Catholic church, where the beggars congregate, and you will see plenty
of your old acquaintances," said Marczi sorrowfully.
"But what has brought them to it?"
And Marczi told him many a sad record of oppression and misery that
wrung Raby's heart as he listened.
But now they had arrived at the lower town, where the ruins of the forty
houses burned out in the great fire still stood. The streets hereabouts
were nearly a morass and all but impassable.
The men who were commencing to put the roofs on, greeted Raby timidly,
as if half afraid, and they quickly drove indoors the women who stood
furtively about in the surrounding courts. Raby's questions they only
answered with the greatest caution, fencing with his enquiries as to why
the work of restoration had been so long delayed. Marczi drew him away.
"They will never tell you where the shoe pinches," he said, "whatever
bait you offer; they know too well what the end for them would be. You
would listen to their grievance and then retail it to the Emperor. He
would send to the town council to know why his subjects' wrongs were not
redressed? Thereupon the complainants would be arrested, get twenty
strokes with the lash, and the Kaiser would be told the grievances of
his subjects were amended. Oh, our people know better than to complain!
At no price would they confess why their houses are yet unfinished, or
how much of the compensation is still owing."
"Surely their wrongs cry aloud to Heaven," said Raby indignantly. "I
only wish I could get documentary evidence of it!"
"Well, they won't give it to you, but if you really wish it, I could get
you many such testimonies by to-morrow, and bring them to your house."
"And are you not afraid of the authorities being angry with you?"
"I? What does their anger matter to me, I don't need them, but they
can't do without me. I've got them too much in my power. Listen, for you
are an honest man, to no other would I venture to say it. One day they
summoned me to bring my masons' tools to the Town Hall. No sooner had I
arrived, than they bid me go to the secret passage with the notary,
which only he and I know of; the aperture was made during the Turkish
rule, and except the notary and the Rascian 'pope,' no one knows the
whereabouts. I had to wall up the opening."
"So you know the entrance to the room which contains the secret
treasure?"
"Yes, indeed, I know it; I have so managed it that no one save the
notary shall ever be able to find it again."
"And would you be willing to take me to it?" Raby ventured to ask.
"No, for they have bound me by a terrible oath never, except at the
bidding of the notary, to break open the walled-up passage. What I have
sworn, I hold sacred, but this much will I say, that you can still
manage to get there."
"Through the 'pope' who knows the other entrance, eh?"
"Mark well, not through the first. It is as much as his life is worth to
betray that secret. But there is another way yet. If you can gain the
ear of the Emperor, persuade him to order the election of new
representatives in the council, then there would be neither the judge,
nor the notary, nor any at present in office to reckon with. If we get a
new notary, I could show him the secret passage without any difficulty,
since my oath compels me only to 'open it at the notary's bidding.'"
"That is a good idea, Marczi, I will try and follow it out."
"You too care for the rights of our poor oppressed folk. May the good
God reward you! But I will tell you where our greatest danger lies; it
is in the surveying of the land that the Emperor has ordered. The whole
work the surveyor performs is a sham. The best fields under his survey
become ownerless, and the municipality takes possession of them. The
common folk have to be satisfied with sterile, marshy waste land, and
the peasants have to sell their last cow, because they have no pasture
for it. Come with me a little way, and I will show you."
So Raby sauntered the livelong day with his old school-fellow through
the fields, and saw much. If the new surveying measures were taken,
four-fifths of the peasants' property was ruined, the remaining fifth
was devoured by their oppressors, and the owner became houseless and a
serf.
Towards evening, Raby turned homewards with an empty game-bag and a
heavy heart.
His mood surely had not escaped Fruzsinka, for she welcomed him with
more than ordinary tenderness. She had prepared for his supper some of
his favourite dumplings, but somehow even these delicacies failed to
satisfy him, and he only wanted to go to bed.
The next morning, Marczi was there quite early. He brought what he had
promised, a whole hoard of documents. Raby took them into his study, and
was the whole day long deciphering them.
* * * * *
Marczi, meantime, went about his own business.
As he came out towards the market-place, at the end of the long street,
he heard the tones of a bagpipe, and the strains of a violin fell on his
ear. But when he came up with the music, he saw what was going forward.
The recruiting officers were coming down the street.
So the Emperor wanted soldiers, that was evident enough.
And a right merry affair it was, this recruiting!
They chose out from among the hussars the finest looking fellow, and he
was sent from town to town with a dozen comrades to enlist recruits.
They played and sang some such song as this as they went:
"Merry is the game we play,
See, our uniforms so gay,
And the ensign that we bear,
'Twas our sweethearts placed it there!"
They each carried a bottle of good wine in their hands, and every
citizen they met was promptly treated to a cup, till he noticed that
they wore the hussar uniform. But no human power, once he had tasted the
wine, could then free him, and he belonged thenceforth to the recruiting
sergeants.
The recruiters reaped the best harvest in the market-place, where they
led a riotous dance. It was a regular Magyar measure, a wild, capricious
"Csardas," with a dash in it of defiant pride, every movement and
gesture suggesting reckless abandon. The clapping of hands, the clinking
of spurs, the stamping of feet, all helped towards it, and when the last
movement came, foot and heel vied with each other, as the tall figures
swayed hither and thither, with the sabre swinging jauntily at their
sides, and the "csako" on their heads. No wonder that with a dozen such
warriors dancing in a row, the women's eyes sparkled as they watched,
and they beckoned to the tallest men in the crowd to come and join in.
The recruiters had finished their dance, and were coming along the
street where Marczi was walking.
In front was the recruiting-sergeant, and he seemed in a right merry
mood. Behind him came the piper, taking wild leaps and bounds as he
played an accompaniment to the dancers on his bagpipes; then followed
the rest, strutting along like peacocks, offering the bottle to all they
met.
Marczi did not look at them; he was in too much of a hurry. But the
recruiting-sergeant stopped him.
"Halloa, comrade, won't you stop for a word? Anyone would think you had
stolen something by the way you run."
"I am in a hurry. I have a job I want to finish. You have done your
work, I see?"
"Don't be a fool, man, we can only live once. Have a drink!"
"The deuce take your drink. Don't you see that to-day I've carpentering
business on hand. It won't do for me to get giddy when I'm on the
ladder."
"Well, a gulp of wine wouldn't do you any harm. You don't go any further
till you've had a swallow from my bottle, I tell you."
"Oh, very well," and Marczi took the proffered drink.
"Here's to our true friendship, comrade!" said the other as he followed
suit.
Marczi was turning away, having thus gratified his interlocutor, when
the latter called him back.
"Marczi, Marczi!" he called, "here's something for you. Here, hold out
your hand!"
And the recruiting-sergeant pulled out a thaler from his coat-pocket,
and forced it into Marczi's hand, shaking it as he did so.
This time the carpenter would have gone off in earnest, but the other
called him back in quite a peremptory tone.
"Dacso Marczi," he shouted, "you must stay, you can't go now. You have
drunk of the soldier's wine, and accepted the press-money, now there is
no drawing back, so off you march with the rest!"
The carpenter stood dumbfoundered whilst they pressed an hussar's
"csako" on his head. He felt for the handle of his saw in the belt of
his apron. For one instant he had a wild impulse to fall upon the
sergeant; but then he reflected, it was all his own fault. So he
resigned himself to his fate. What had he to regret, indeed, in leaving
this town? There was no one there who would weep for him. So he quietly
took off his apron.
"If I am to be a soldier, let us see where the wine bottle is. Piper,
play my favourite song, 'A soldier's life for me!'"
"The Danube waters long shall flow
'Ere thou again my face shalt know."
"Now, Mr. Corporal, are you ready? Off we go, and walk and talk till
morning."
And the newly-made soldier drank with the recruiters to his new
profession.
On the morrow, the recruiting-sergeant went with the ex-carpenter to his
old home, so that he might arrange his affairs there before leaving. He
had an old aunt to whom he could safely entrust his belongings. Besides,
ten years after all, are not an eternity. They pass before one can look
round.
The good old soul was busy tying up her nephew's bundle, when a
messenger appeared with an official air, and the order:
"Dacso Marczi, it is settled at head-quarters that the recruiters are to
stay a week here; during that time you are to stop here and not attempt
to go anywhere else; but you are to put your three horses to, and drive
to-day with relays to Pesth."
Marczi was inclined to rebel, but it availed nothing.
The sergeant only laughed.
"It's no jest, Marczi. They reckon on you for the relays. A gulden for
every horse and each station, besides money for the driver, and for
drinks."
"But why should I go with relays, when there are plenty of carriage
owners who have nothing better to do than to chatter with jackanapes?"
"My dear fellow, this is why, so you shall not think we are getting the
best of you. You know that the surveyor has finished his work and is to
leave the town to-day. You know, too, how angry the mob are with him.
They will pelt him with stones. But if they see that you, whom they all
like, are the coachman, they won't do it for fear of hitting you."
In half an hour from that time, a light carriage, drawn by three good
horses, stood at the gate of the prefect's residence, where the surveyor
was staying. On the box sat Dacso Marczi himself. The orderlies carried
out the surveyor's documents, done up in large bundles, to lay them
under the leather covering of the back seat. The surveyor himself was
well guarded against the cold, having on a seasonable fur coat and warm
overshoes, while the lappets of his fur cap were fastened well under his
chin.
"Now, Marczi, if you drive well, we'll drink to-day to any amount," he
cried.
"Ay, that we will," agreed the driver as they dashed off.
* * * * *
Mathias Raby was again pressed by his wife to go and get some shooting.
Perhaps he might be more lucky to-day, and bring home a hare.
His spouse was all affection and anxiety. So he went.
But the things Raby had heard lately he could not get out of his head.
Therefore he did not go far into the country, but turned back in the
direction of Pesth. There, he saw a mob of men, women, and children, who
all seemed to be waiting for someone.
He would not ask for whom, for he knew they would not tell him.
But hardly had Raby gone a few hundred paces past them, than he noted a
carriage drawn by three horses, coming from the prefecture at a quick
gallop, whereupon the whole crowd of people, till now silent, burst
forth with loud cries, and placed themselves on either side of the road.
The passenger inside the carriage he did not recognise; neither could he
make out what it was the mob were shouting to him. But their tone was
sufficiently menacing. As the equipage dashed between the rows of
people, the yells became still louder, whilst fists were raised and
sticks were brandished threateningly. The carriage did not stop, but
cleared the mob till it had left it far behind.
When the carriage reached Raby, he saw the surveyor cowering on the back
seat. Now he gathered what the people's cries had meant. But he did not
understand what it was till the carriage pulled up close to him, and he
recognised in the driver, Dacso Marczi.
"Your very humble servant," exclaimed the surveyor to Raby. "Did you
hear the infernal row they made? That's the way they receive me
everywhere. If Marczi had not been my coachman, I should have had stones
thrown at my head."
"Your worship," cried Marczi, in a voice already thick with wine; "is
there still some brandy in the flask?"
"Yes, Marczi, here you are, drink!"
The coachman took the bottle and emptied it.
"Marczi, you will do yourself harm!" objected Raby.
"Not a bit of it," stammered the driver, whilst he set down the flask,
and with that he whipped up the horses, and off they flew, so that the
wheels scattered the mud on all sides.
At one spot where the high road nears the Danube, a side-path winds in
the direction of the river towards the ferry. When Marczi's carriage had
reached this point, the coachman turned the horses and urged them with
the whip along the path. Then all at once the carriage dashed from the
steep bank into the river below.
"Help, help!" yelled the driver, waving his hat; but horses and carriage
were already struggling against the strong tide of the river, now
swollen by its spring flood.
But no help was forthcoming, and Raby only saw a man muffled up in a fur
coat, struggling desperately to free himself from the sinking carriage,
but the heavy garment dragged him helplessly down. Soon the vehicle with
its passenger began to sink, and at last the horses' heads disappeared
in the stream. Coachman, surveyor, and documents all had gone to the
bottom of the Danube. Nor was any trace of them ever found.
Mathias Raby stood horror-stricken on the highway, while around him the
wintry wind swept over the stubble fields, and carried it with the sound
as of a howling of many voices that echoed afar off like the laughter of
despair.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.