AN HOUR OF TRIAL.
Manasseh and those with him were taken prisoners and sent to Bresci.
What befell them there is matter of history. Adorjan was surprised one
morning by the receipt of the following: a coffee-coloured uniform,
trimmed with red cord and its collar adorned with gold lace; a handsome
sword in a gold-mounted scabbard; and an official document from the
Italian war office, appointing him major of the battalion with which he
had been taken prisoner.
The sight of these most unexpected presents could not but thrill
Manasseh with pride and exultation. Now at last it was in his power to
wreak vengeance on those who had so grievously wronged him,--to cut his
way, sword in hand, back to his downtrodden fatherland, perhaps even to
exact a rich retribution at the oppressor's hands, and to restore his
country once more to a position of proud independence. Added to all
this, the seductive picture of future fame, of undying renown as a
patriot and liberator, rose before his vision. Already, as hero of the
_Madonna della Scoperta_, he had tasted the intoxication of martial
glory. A strength and self-denial more than human seemed necessary if he
would turn his back coldly on the splendid prospect that opened before
him as his country's avenger and deliverer. What words can do justice to
the conflicting emotions which Manasseh experienced in that hour of
trial? His comrades in arms and many of his dearest friends, he felt
convinced, would turn upon him with mockery and reviling if he should
now still cling to his principles and refuse to disobey the commandment
of his God,--"Thou shalt not kill."
In Italy every house has its image of the crucified Saviour. Manasseh
stood now before one of these crucifixes, lost in troubled thought. To
Jesus, too, the people had cried: "Be our general, lead us against the
Romans, free your nation!" And he had answered them: "I will lead you to
a heavenly kingdom, and will free all mankind." Then he was heaped with
scorn and abuse, was scourged by the Roman lictors, and was finally
dragged before Pontius Pilate and crucified. But not the scourging, not
the crown of thorns, or the cruel nails, or the spear of Longinus,--none
of these was the really hard thing to bear. A man may suffer the
severest physical torture and still utter no cry. The cruelest of all
was the scornful laughter of those to whom he had brought salvation and
eternal life, the blame of his fellow-citizens for whom he so freely
shed his life's blood. That was what only a man of divine nobility and
courage could endure.
"I am but mortal!" cried the tempted man, in anguish. "I cannot attain
unto such heights." And he buckled on his gold-mounted sword.
The crucified form, however, seemed to turn its eyes upon him in mild
reproof and gentle encouragement. "I will lend you my aid," it seemed to
say to him.
But Manasseh hastened from the room and turned his steps toward the
commandant's quarters. Perturbed in mind and hardly master of himself,
he started at the rattle of his own sword; and when some of his comrades
saw him pass and cheered him with loud hurrahs, he hurried by and barely
returned their salute.
The general received him in his breakfast-room, where he was engaged
with his morning mail. Acknowledging Manasseh's greeting, he handed him
an open letter. The Hungarian took it and read as follows:
"Villafranca. Peace has been concluded. The Hungarian battalion is
to be disbanded, and its members allowed to return home."
This room, too, had its crucifix. It seemed to look down on Manasseh
with the same gentle reproof, and to say, "Have I failed you in your
hour of trial?"
With the first ripening of the fruit in the Toroczko orchards, Manasseh
and his comrades were at home. Blanka came to meet her husband as far as
Kolozsvar, bringing her little daughter Ilonka with her. Bela could not
come, as he had just then a school examination. At the Borev bridge a
splendid reception awaited the home-comers. A handsome little lad headed
the receiving party, waving a flag.
"Who is that pretty boy?" Manasseh asked his wife.
She laughed merrily, and rebuked him for not knowing his own son. But he
had not seen the child for six years.
His brother Aaron, too, he hardly recognised, so gray had his hair
turned under the anxieties of the past few years. The speech of welcome
which the elder brother was to have delivered proved a total failure,
owing to the emotion aroused in the orator's breast at sight of the
returned wanderer. But the most affecting part of it all to Manasseh was
the appearance of his sister Anna. The poor girl, he could not fail to
see, was sinking into an early grave.