THE FIRST STEP.
Three days after the betrothal a county assembly was held under the
presidency of Administrator RideghvAiry.
At an early hour the white feathers and the black--the badges of the
Progressive and the Conservative parties respectively--began to
appear. But not only were white and black feathers conspicuous; loaded
canes, also, and stout cudgels were seen peeping out from overhanging
mantles, to be brought forth in case some convincing and irrefutable
argument should be needed in the heat of debate.
Punctually at nine o'clock RideghvAiry called the meeting to order. The
Progressives had planned an energetic protest against an alleged
unconstitutionality in the administration, and their best speakers
were primed for the occasion, hoping to bring the matter to a vote.
The Conservatives, on their part, had summoned to their aid all the
most tiresome and long-winded speakers to be found in the neighbouring
counties, to kill the motion.
Nevertheless, the white feathers held their ground, being determined
to sit the meeting out if it lasted all night, and well knowing that,
the moment the chairman should note any preponderance of blacks in the
hall, he would put the question to vote and it would be lost.
Therefore they kept their places patiently until it came the turn of
their chief orator, TormAindy, to speak.
When he rose to address the assembly, the black feathers seemed to
unite in an effort to silence him, disputing his every statement and
making constant interruptions. But TormAindy was not to be
disconcerted. If a hundred voices shouted in opposition, his
stentorian tones still made themselves heard above the uproar. In the
heat of debate it could not but occur that an occasional word escaped
the speaker's lips that would have been called unparliamentary in any
other deliberative body, and a repetition of the offence would have
necessitated the speaker's taking his seat. Not so here, however. As
soon as TormAindy's ardour had betrayed him into the utterance of an
unusually insulting expression, TallA(C)rossy and his comrades
immediately set upon him, like a pack of hounds after the game, and
called out in concert: "_Actio, Actio!_" Thereupon the assembly,
_stante sessione_, passed judgment on the case and imposed a fine.
TormAindy, however, was not so easily put down. Coolly drawing out his
pocketbook, he threw down two hundred florins,--the usual fine,--and
continued his philippic. Upon a second interruption of the same kind,
he merely threw down another two hundred, without pausing in his
speech. And so he continued his oration, interspersed with occasional
invectives, until he had emptied his pocketbook and surrendered his
seal ring and his insignia of nobility in pledge of payments still
lacking. His speech, however, was finished; he had succeeded in saying
what he had to say, to the very last word. But his concluding
sentences were drowned in an uproar. Deafening huzzas on one side, and
shouts of "Down with him!" on the other, turned the meeting into a
veritable pandemonium, each party trying in vain to drown its
opponents' cries.
Meanwhile the presiding administrator sat unmoved, listening to the
uproar as an orchestra conductor might listen to the performance of
his musicians.
The customary tactics of the Conservatives had failed. In the first
place, there were more white feathers than black in the hall.
Secondly, the former were not to be routed from their position either
by the high temperature of the room,--it would have almost hatched
ostrich eggs,--or by the pangs of hunger, or by the long-winded
harangues of their opponents. Thirdly, they refused to be silenced by
any fines; they paid and spoke on. Fourthly, both parties seemed
disinclined to begin a fight,--a diversion which hitherto had commonly
resulted in the white feathers abandoning the field and taking flight
through doors and windows. A fifth expedient still remained,--the
adjournment of the meeting.
RideghvAiry rang his bell, and was beginning to explain, in a low tone,
that the excessive noise and confusion made further debate impossible,
when suddenly he found himself speaking amid a hush so profound that
one could have heard a pin drop.
"To what noise and confusion does the chairman refer?" asked TormAindy,
with a smile.
RideghvAiry perceived that the meeting was under other control than his
own. The white feathers had received orders to hush every sound the
moment they heard the chairman's bell; their opponents, observing that
their leader was trying to make himself heard, would voluntarily
become silent. Thus it was that the chairman found himself completely
outwitted.
"I admit, there is no noise now," said he, "but as soon as the debate
is resumed, the uproar will begin again, and therefore I claim the
right, as presiding officer, to adjourn the meeting."
But not even then did the result follow which he had expected. The
storm did not break out again; the emergency had been foreseen, and
all his stratagems were too well known to catch his enemies napping.
TormAindy first broke the silence. "Mr. President," said he, rising and
calmly addressing the chair, "I beg to propose that, if the chairman
declines to preside longer over this meeting, we proceed to elect a
substitute, after which we will continue our debate."
A hundred voices were raised in approval of this suggestion, and as
many against it. The cries increased until confusion and uproar were
again supreme. Assuming a stern expression and leaning forward over
his table, RideghvAiry tried to make himself heard.
"This is an open affront," he declared, "a violation of the law. But
it lies in my power to put an end to such unbridled license. If the
members oppose the adjournment of the meeting I shall call for their
expulsion by force of arms."
"We will stand our ground," shouted back TormAindy, crossing his arms
and facing the administrator defiantly.
But the latter had resources still in reserve. Summoning the sheriff,
he bade him clear the hall, whereupon that officer threw open the
folding doors behind the president's chair and revealed a body of men
standing there with drawn swords, ready to do his bidding. Both the
sheriff and his posse were creatures of the administrator.
In the first moment of surprise every one thought this must be a joke
of some sort, so many years had passed since swords had been drawn in
a county assembly. But when one and another zealous patriot was seen
to fall wounded beside the green table, and bloody blades were
brandished before their eyes, all took fright in earnest. The next
moment, however, the scene changed. Some of the young Progressives
drew their swords and ranged themselves against the sheriff's posse.
Such a clashing of steel and din of battle then ensued as had never
before been heard in a meeting of that kind,--and all under the eye of
the presiding officer, and, apparently, with his approval.
But what speedily followed was not so much to his liking. The valiant
young wearers of the white feather soon succeeded in driving the
sheriff and his force into a corner, where they struck the swords out
of their hands, and sent the men themselves flying through the
windows. At that moment a newcomer opened the door and entered the
hall.
It was A-dAśn Baradlay. In his rich mourning attire, and with stern
displeasure on his brow, he looked like an angry god. Without
uncovering,--whether from forgetfulness or design,--he advanced to the
president's chair, his face flushed with wrath and his eyes flashing
resentment. RideghvAiry eyed him askance, like the jackal that suddenly
encounters a tiger in the forests of India.
"I hold you responsible for this shameful occurrence, which will stand
as a disgrace to our country before the world," declared A-dAśn,
sternly confronting the occupant of the chair.
"Me responsible?" cried RideghvAiry, his voice betraying a mixture of
anger, haughtiness, alarm, and astonishment.
"Yes, you!" repeated the other, and, laying his hand on the back of
the president's chair, he shook it in the excess of his wrath. "And
now leave this seat," he continued. "This is the chair that my
ancestors have occupied, and only during my father's illness were you
authorised to take his place. The lord lieutenant is well again."
At these words there was an outburst of cheers in every part of the
hall,--yes, in every part. Those familiar with Hungarian political
assemblies will recall many a similar instance where one fearless
stroke has gained the admiration and support of all parties. Likes and
dislikes, political prejudices and private interests, are all
forgotten, and the whole assembly is swept off its feet as one
man--whither, no one asks.
Such a miracle was wrought on the present occasion. RideghvAiry read
only too plainly in the faces of his partisans and hirelings that his
rule was at an end. Here was no place for him now. Pale with shame and
fury, he rose from his chair. With one look of wrath and hatred at the
assembly, he turned to A-dAśn and, with lust for revenge in his tones,
muttered between his teeth:
"This is the first step to that height of which I have warned you."
A-dAśn measured him with a look of scorn. He knew well enough from his
mother what height was meant, but he deigned no reply.
The door closed upon the administrator, and the young lord lieutenant
took the president's chair amid the huzzas of all present. Then at
length he removed his fur cap. His action had been, it must be
admitted, unconstitutional, since he had not yet been installed as
lord lieutenant, and so was unqualified to assume the duties of the
office. But the enthusiasm which greeted his appearance was warm and
genuine, and he accepted it as a sanction of his course. His had been
a bold stroke, and one pregnant with results for himself, for his
county, for his native land,--yes, for his generation. But it
succeeded. His action formed a turning-point in his country's history.
Whither the course he had adopted would lead, he knew not, and no
little courage was called for in facing its possible issue.
What else occurred in that assembly is simply a matter of history, but
the glory of that day belongs to A-dAśn Baradlay.