The Emperor sent urgent orders to the governor to set Mathias Raby free
immediately, so that the inquiry into the Szent-Endre frauds,
established on his accusation, could be brought to an end.
The letter was laid by with the rest, as usual, unread. The governor
however hastened to answer that the orders would be executed in due
course--when the depositions of the municipality had been taken--an
explanation which satisfied the Emperor, who little knew what the "due
course" extended to.
It really meant that the culprit Raby was brought out of his prison, not
to be freed, but rather to be fettered hand and foot. That is usual when
a prisoner is to be tried, and this was his first examination.
In the presence of the whole court, and of the district commissioner,
they subjected him to an insidious cross-examination for fully four
hours, till he was ready to drop from sheer exhaustion. Only half of the
accusations brought against him would have sufficed for his
condemnation.
Finally, he was conducted back to prison. He staggered into the room he
had left, but the gaoler called him back.
"Oho, there, Mr. prisoner, that's not your cell. Those who wear irons
don't lodge there!"
And he led him into a neighbouring cell whose door was furnished with
three massive locks, whilst the window was protected with iron bars and
a grating. The only furniture was a plank bed; of table or chairs, there
were none. The prisoner's books had not been sent in either.
Although it was dinner-time, and he had eaten nothing, no dainty meal
awaited him, such as those he had been accustomed to, nor even was he
allowed the ordinary prison fare allotted to well-born culprits. A
heyduke brought in a great earthen pitcher with a crust of black bread.
"Here you are, my fine sir," laughed the heyduke mockingly, but, as he
bent to set it down on the stone floor, he whispered, "The bottom comes
off!"
Then he left him, carefully locking the door behind him.
Now was Raby's wish fulfilled, he was rid of unpleasant company and was
alone. But solitude had been more welcome if they had allowed him his
books. As it was, he only had his own thoughts for company, and these
were not cheerful companions.
Raby's soul was full of rage against the whole world, but most of all
was he angry with his own weak body that was so sensitive to hunger and
cold, that trembled at the thought of death, and felt the pressure of
its chains so keenly. Why could not he carry his body as defiantly as
he bore his soul within him?
But he knew that he needed some support, therefore he began to eat
mechanically the black bread, but had it been the daintiest fare
possible, it had tasted all the same to him. Only when he raised the
pitcher to his lips, did he remember the words of the heyduke about the
"bottom coming off." He began to examine the pitcher, and presently, by
dint of close scrutiny, he found that it had a false bottom which
screwed on, and found a cavity in which was concealed a bottle of ink,
pen and paper. With them were some slices of cold meat, as well as a
note containing these words: "Fear nothing; the Emperor knows all. Your
friends will not forsake you. Write once more to the Emperor."
Now he no longer feared solitude. The phantoms and fears which had
tormented him hitherto, vanished with the sight of pen and ink. A
written thought is a substantial friend. So he committed to paper all
that had befallen him, hid the writing again in the bottom of the
pitcher, and re-screwed it on. The meat, too, revived him, and the
consciousness that he was not left to his fate, and that he could still
communicate with the outer world, was strangely comforting. Who his
unknown friend might be, he could not conceive. It must be some one more
powerful than the weak girl whose part in this business his own heart
had already suggested to him.
The next morning, in came the gaoler with the same heyduke, who carried
away the pitcher, and at mid-day brought him his rations as before.
Raby could hardly wait till he had gone, to unscrew his pitcher. Sure
enough, he found some writing materials therein, and the money for
covering the fee of a special courier for his letter. His friends must
be wealthy people.
He quickly hid all again, however, for steps were approaching his cell.
The door opened, and three men came in, who proved to be Laskoy, Petray,
and the lieutenant of Szent-Endre. The latter handed to Raby the bill of
his indictment.
The prisoner immediately handed it back to him.
"It is not you who are the accusers in this matter, but rather I," he
said haughtily. "It is for me to impeach you, not the reverse. I refuse
to accept it."
"Take care," cried Laskoy. "Weigh well the consequences of this
rejection. If you do not receive the indictment, we will soon tackle you
as a contumacious criminal."
"I dare you to do it," returned Raby.
"The man is a fool; he shall take it," cried Laskoy, beside himself with
rage.
Raby folded his arms proudly, so that they should not force it on him.
"Mr. lieutenant, witness that he will not take it and draw up a warrant
of attainder for contumacity."
The lieutenant proceeded to carry out these instructions.
"And while you are about it, certify that I threw the document out of
the room," said Raby, suiting the action to the word.
This was an unheard-of audacity. The three men withdrew uttering violent
threats.
After a time, in came the castellan with a very long face.
"Now I would not give a cracked nut for your chances," he cried. "They
are going to pronounce judgment immediately. The executioner has been
told to hold himself in readiness for to-morrow. We have martial law on
our side, and the Emperor himself cannot gainsay it."
These words caused Raby to think over what he had done. It was, of
course, only too likely that their legal right could be strained before
the Emperor had any chance of interfering; in this case, he would have
lost his head before the latter could prevent it. The thought tormented
him the whole night through. The strong soul in vain reminded the weak
body which held it that dying was not to be feared, but philosophy
availed nothing before the thought of imminent death.
The next morning found the prisoner restless and wakeful. It was hardly
day ere he heard a number of footsteps approaching his dungeon. The iron
door was thrown open, and a whole crowd burst into his cell, the
magistrate and the lieutenant among them, whilst following them, came a
man he took to be the public executioner of Pesth.
A sudden faintness overcame him; all seemed to swim before his eyes,
and he heard nothing of what they said. The man who looked like the
executioner began to undress and roll up his shirt-sleeves. Raby
imagined they were going to execute him in prison. The
forbidding-looking wretch then called for assistance, and bid them bring
him his tools.
Raby heaved a deep sigh and folded his arms across his breast, whereat
the whole company burst out laughing. The tools which the man had asked
for were a hammer, a trowel, and a tub of mortar. He was, in fact, no
executioner, but an ordinary mason, who was going to block up the window
in Raby's cell which overlooked the street, and bore an air-hole in the
ceiling. They were going to shut out the prisoner from the outside world
altogether. Henceforth his cell would receive no light but what fell
from the tiny opening over the door which gave into the court, and was
darkened with a narrow iron grating.
Moreover, from this day forward, Raby was subjected to daily
cross-examination, and every means was tried to entangle him and make
him contradict himself.
The twenty indictments first formulated against him rapidly lengthened
to treble that number. And so it went on for a month, nor did they ever
succeed in incriminating him. But it was a painful process for the
accused.
One day the gaoler brought a bird into Raby's cell, a magpie, who by his
chattering mightily cheered the captive. The feathered guest sat on his
hand, and pecked his finger in a playful way as if it had been an old
friend. And Raby stroked the soft plumage tenderly, and he guessed it
was Mariska who had sent it to cheer his loneliness which had become
well-nigh unbearable, and he welcomed it as a comrade. Whilst he
listened to it, as it sat on his hand, he would almost forget the irons
that fettered them, and would, on his return from the court each day,
whistle to his little friend on re-entering his cell.
But one day there was no answer to his greeting; all was silent. Raby
sought for his pet in every corner of the cell, and at last found the
bird strangled, tied to the iron grating, killed by his enemies because
of the pleasure it had given him.
Had Raby seen one of his own kith and kin dead before him, he could not
have grieved more than he did for this feathered friend. Nor did he get
any sympathy from the gaoler, who only laughed when he heard of it. But
Raby implored him not to tell Mariska of the fate of her pet.
That official, however, promptly reported the whole affair to Mariska,
and took care to carry her the dead bird. Bitterly she wept over her
favourite, but remembering her father might see she had been crying, she
soon dried her eyes.
But Raby must not be alone; that was the main thing. So she did not long
delay in sending another feathered pet, a titmouse this time, in a
cage, which she intrusted to the gaoler to carry to the prisoner, but on
no account to let him know who sent it. As if Raby would not guess!
The warder placed the cage on the prisoner's bed, murmured some excuse
for bringing it, and left him. He did not see Raby fall upon his knees
before the cage in a transport of almost hysterical joy. And the little
bird soon became as dear to him as the magpie had been.
But one evening, when he came in from the wearisome cross-examination
that seemed as if it would never end, lo, and behold, there lay the
titmouse dead in his cage. Someone had fed him with poisoned flies.
Raby implored the gaoler not to bring him any more birds. Henceforth he
determined not to have these feathered friends sacrificed to him.
All the same, he soon found another pet in the shape of a little mouse,
which, like himself, lived in captivity. At first it only timidly put
its head out of its hole, and glided shyly and warily along the side of
the wall; gradually, however, it perceived that the cell's occupant had
strewn bread-crumbs on the floor, and furtively yet nimbly it picked
them up. And by degrees it came nearer to the prisoner, and presently
ventured to run up his knees and dared to eat the crumbs that the
stranger hand held, and finally, in that same hand, sat on its hind
legs, looking at Raby with the most whimsical expression imaginable on
its diminutive face.
Poor Raby! The mouse might well look at him; perhaps it wondered who
this haggard, unkempt man was, with the tangled growth of unshaven beard
and lank hair drooping over the hollow eyes, framing a pale, lean face,
disfigured by suffering.
This was the beginning of their strange friendship. The mouse would
sport round him the whole day, or gambol about on his shoulder, and at
night, would, as he lay on his plank bed, watch him from the ceiling,
with bright, friendly eyes. Did Raby call to it, it would answer him
with a little responsive squeak, and try to gnaw the links of the chain
that bound the prisoner, with its tiny teeth. But did anyone enter, the
mouse would hurry back into its hole.
But alas, there came a time when he had to lose even this humble
companion. One evening he missed him, and only found the poor little
beast dead in a corner--someone, apparently, having placed rat-poison in
its hole. What the prisoner's feelings were, words do not express; his
whole heart welled over with bitterness at this fresh proof of the
malice of his enemies. They were, indeed, evil hearts that could find
their pleasure in thus tormenting their victim.