In the January of 1848 it had not yet entered the most speculative
imagination that war might break out before the year had ended. Our
humane patriots thought of anything in the world rather than of the
manufacture of gunpowder; and when, during some unusually riotous
municipal elections, one or two of our noble countrymen were shot
through the head, the papers, for several weeks afterwards, were full
of comments on the horrors of such unheard-of bloodshed.
It was about this time that the journals were much occupied with the
wonders of a certain magnetic somnambulist, who foretold various
strange things, which, to the astonishment of all who heard them,
actually came to pass.
She foretold, among other things, the ruin of Comorn! Unhappy town! it
might have been well for her if all her misfortunes had been included
in this prophecy, but alas! her fate was doomed to exceed even this,
in the direful results of the siege. Another of the prophecies of the
somnambulist was, that the country should be visited by cholera, and
that those whom it carried off would be the happiest.
When Mor (Morice) Perczel was sent as deputy to Presburg, he was
obliged to pass a night at Vacz, where he heard so much of this
marvellous somnambulist that he determined not to leave the place
without seeing her, and accordingly he got an acquaintance to escort
him in the evening to her lodging.
On entering the apartment, he beheld, by the dim light of a lamp, a
very young girl, whose extreme paleness gave her an almost
supernatural appearance; her face was thin, and her skin transparent;
her eyes, which were very large, and of a pure blue, were half closed,
and her lips and hands trembled exceedingly.
She was lying motionless in a large arm-chair; and her physician had
just entered. He had recommended the use of magnetism for the cure of
spasms at the heart, and it was now the sixth week that she had been
under the magnetic influence. She was seldom awake, but still seldomer
asleep; her usual state being something between the two--a constant
unconscious reverie, accompanied by acute sensibility to the pleasure
or pain of others, and a total absence of personal feeling. As her
physician approached, and she came within the magnetic influence, she
slowly opened her eyes, and fixed them steadfastly on his face without
moving her eyelids. When he took her hand, a cold, faint smile passed
over her countenance, and the trembling ceased; her physician then
began to stroke her face, arms, and breast, with the tips of his
fingers, at first slowly, but quickening the motion by degrees, while
he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon his patient.
The girl continued motionless; her eyelids alone seemed to contend
with the irresistible power which always gained upon her, closing by
degrees and then opening wide again, while the pupils were unusually
dilated.
Her whole countenance gradually underwent a wonderful change: her
features assumed a character inexpressibly sweet and sad; she sighed
and wept, her lips parted, while a calm smile settled on them. At
last, her head sank on the cushion of her chair, and she fell asleep.
The physician now motioned to Mor Perczel to approach within the
magnetic circle. Suddenly the girl's countenance assumed an expression
of surprise and uneasiness.
"Who is this?" asked the physician, in a low, familiar tone.
The girl answered slowly, and with hesitation, "One of--our
future--greatest leaders!"
Perczel smiled. "Perhaps in the camp of the Diet," he thought to
himself.
"No, not in the Diet," replied the girl, to whom he had not
communicated his thoughts; "on the field of battle!"
"And what fate awaits him there?" asked the physician.
"Let him beware of his own name!"
* * * * *
Before the termination of that year, Mor Perczel was a General in the
Hungarian rebel army, had raised troops, and fought several battles,
without ever recalling the prophecy of the Vaczi girl.
It was on the 30th December that the memorable action near Mor[46]
took place, in which the Hungarians were defeated with considerable
loss.
[Footnote 46: South-west of Pesth, in the county of Stuhlweissenberg.]
The real cause of the loss of this battle has never been clearly
proved up to the present day. It was enough, and more than enough to
Perczel, that the battle was lost, his troops scattered, his positions
occupied, his colours taken, and the gallant Zrinyi battalion, the
flower of his army, cut to pieces or taken prisoners.
When he returned to Pesth after this battle, one of the town
magistrates, ever ready with a jest, maliciously observed, "Ocsem[47]
Mor, your namesake did not receive you well."
[Footnote 47: Nephew--younger brother.]
"Indeed!" replied the General, without taking offence, "now I
remember, that the somnambulist foretold me this just a year ago. If I
did not believe that Görgei was the cause of our losing the battle, I
should be inclined to think there had been witchcraft in it. Well, the
Germans shall keep their name's-day by and bye!"
After this loss, the Hungarians were obliged to retreat from Pesth.
The Government and treasury were removed to Debrecsen, and Perczel was
intrusted with their escort thither.
Having accomplished this, he advanced with a small army towards
Szolnok, where the enemy had encamped, and were fortifying themselves
during the cold season.
One fine misty morning, Perczel crossed the Tisza[48] on the ice to
the enemy's nearest position, and, opening fire upon them, obliged
them to retreat to Czegled, whither he pursued them.
[Footnote 48: Szolnok is built on the river Tisza, or Theiss.]
The imperial troops had just crossed a village vineyard. Perczel saw
the last dragoon disappear behind the acacia trees which skirted it,
and, striking his spurs into his horse, he ordered his troops to
advance, that the enemy might not escape them.
At that moment he was arrested by a stranger, who unceremoniously rode
up to him, and, seizing his mantle, accosted him in French.
"_N'allez pas là!_" said the unknown, pointing to the vineyards.
The General looked at him in astonishment. The stranger was an old
man, simply attired _en civile_, but there was something peculiarly
striking in his martial air and keen glance.
"And why should I not go there?" asked Perczel.
"The enemy will bring you into a snare!"
"I should like to see that."
"You will see it. Behind those vineyards there is undoubtedly a
concealed battery, from which you will receive a cross fire."
"Why do you imagine this?"
"Because it follows naturally from the position."
"Ah! we must not let our apprehensions retain us on such grounds; we
have no time to speculate," cried the General, and, shaking off the
importunate stranger, he once more galloped forward.
They were now scarcely a thousand paces from the vineyards. A Suabian
peasant, whose cart had been overturned in endeavouring to pass the
artillery, was standing by the roadside, uttering lamentations over
his damaged goods.
"What village is that, good fellow?" asked Perczel out of mere
curiosity, pointing to the village at the foot of the vineyards.
"Perczel!" replied the boor.
"That is I," said the General; "but I asked you the name of that
village."
"May be your excellency is called after it, for its name has been
Perczel since the beginning of the world."
The General stopped short. The words of the somnambulist recurred to
him; he looked round for the old man--he was riding among the troops.
Perczel motioned to him to approach, and said, "Do you really believe
that there is a battery concealed behind those vineyards?"
"I am certain of it. The slightest experience in tactics might
determine that."
"And accordingly you consider the position unattainable."
"On the contrary--but on such occasions it is usual to make a
_détour_."
"For which a very rapid movement were requisite, and our infantry is
too much fatigued."
"We can manage that; intrust me with a battalion of infantry and two
squadrons of cavalry, and wait here in reserve until I start the game
from its cover."
"Do so," said the General, and, giving some directions to his
aide-de-camp, he watched the stranger's movements with interest.
The old man put the infantry in the hussars' stirrups, and conducted
them with the utmost expedition across the wood.
The idea was as natural as that of Columbus in regard to the egg, and
yet it had occurred to no one before.
In a few minutes the rapid discharge of musketry announced that the
stranger had not been mistaken; and the batteries, which were actually
lying in ambush behind the hill, appeared retreating from either side.
Perczel then advanced with the reserve to meet his troops. They
returned in triumph with the little, grayhaired stranger, who rode
calmly on as if nothing had happened, his brow still blackened with
the smoke from the gunpowder. The troops could not sufficiently extol
his coolness and intrepidity.
"I owe you much," said Perczel, not ashamed to acknowledge the
stranger's superiority. "May I know whom I have the honour of
addressing?"
"My name is Henry Dembinszki," replied the stranger coldly.
Perczel respectfully saluted him, and placed the marshal's baton in
his hand. "It is your due; henceforward let _me_ serve in your
ranks."