_A VISIT FROM STEPHEN._
The surgeon, who could do nothing further, slipped out quietly, asking
as he went if he should send any one to bear me company.
I shook my head, preferring to keep that solemn watch alone.
In truth, my heart was exceedingly sad both for the dying man and for
his dear ones in Vienna, who would await his return in vain.
The manner of his death also sorely grieved me. Certainly my hand had
not struck him down, but Sandor had slain him to save my life.
It was foolish, perhaps, to dwell on the thought, but I could not thrust
it out. I felt that but for me the baron would still have been at the
head of his regiment.
The house was very still, and even the noises from the captured town
failed to reach me.
The fires in the street had been extinguished, but now the glowing
crimson of the setting sun flooded the room, and as its light fell
athwart the bed the dying man moved restlessly.
"Let it burn!" he muttered. "All the better for us. Ready? Mind your
aim! Fire!"
His eyes were wide open, gazing with intense keenness across the room.
"Ach!" he continued. "They have it now! Who? The colonel? That will
stop them! Sorry--knew him--Vienna. What? Again? Steady now! Here
they come!"
His brow was wet with perspiration, and, as I bent over to wipe it off,
the dying glory of the sun shone full into my face.
At this the baron's excitement increased, and he muttered to himself at
a great rate, while I, dipping a rag in water, bathed his forehead
continually.
By degrees he became calmer; the wild light died from his eyes; he
ceased to mutter, and presently looked into my face with a reasoning
though puzzled expression.
"George Botskay," I said, trying to help his memory. "Don't you know?
You stood my friend in Vienna."
He smiled faintly, but with intelligence, and, moving his hand, pointed
to the window, as if wishing to direct my attention to something
outside.
"The barricade?" I ventured questioningly.
He smiled again and dropped his hand in mine.
"Good lad," he murmured; "I saw and understood--afterwards."
"I am sorry," I began; but he checked me, saying,--
"A soldier's death, my boy. That is best--for me."
He was getting very weak now, and I heard him with great difficulty.
Some words I did not hear at all, and others only imperfectly; but I
managed to understand what he wished done, and promised to do it.
His requests, poor fellow, were very simple. He desired only that the
miniature of his wife, which hung round his neck, should be given to
Theresa, and his massive wedding-ring to the baroness.
As I gently drew the latter from his finger, his mind wandered once
more, and he talked to himself of bygone days and events of which I knew
nothing.
From the delights of peace he passed to the horrors of the battlefield,
and then right back to the time of his childhood, when he was a happy,
careless boy at his mother's side.
Here he ended, and, rather to my surprise, just as the last gleam of the
setting sun faded, he died with the sacred name of "mother" on his lips.
Taking a long look at the face now so calm and still, I covered it
reverently, and went away on tiptoe, as if the noise of my footsteps
could disturb the dead.
Outside I met the colonel, and returned with him to the room.
"Poor fellow!" he exclaimed, after gazing a moment at the white face.
"What a blow for the pretty fraeulein! I'll warrant he made an idol of
her. War's an awful thing, George, when you come to strip the gilding
off. I would not like to have the responsibility of one on my shoulders,
though I'm a soldier born and bred. How many thousands of widows and
orphans are cursing us at this very moment! Well, well; we must give
the baron a decent funeral in the morning," and he led me away.
The town seemed very quiet after the tremendous uproar of the day.
The fires had been put out; the Austrians were in retreat; and our army
was chasing them into that very mountain district where Goergei had led
us in January.
Our own regiment, having suffered so severely, was left behind, and I
really felt glad of the change.
The colonel had taken up his quarters in a decent house, and there at
supper we were joined by the surviving officers of the regiment.
Several of the absentees were dead, but the majority were in hospital,
and, though badly wounded, expected to recover.
"Just like our luck!" said the colonel, as we sat chatting over what had
happened. "We took the very strongest street in the town. The other
fellows had a pleasure jaunt, compared with our march."
"Who was the Austrian officer?" asked a sublieutenant. "I hope he
escaped; he was a splendid chap."
"That was Baron von Arnstein," the colonel replied. "I'm sorry to say he
was killed. I mean to bury him to-morrow with military honours."
"He deserves all the respect we can show him," Dobozy chimed in.
"There's one thing puzzles me, colonel," I said, "and that is, how you
escaped. I saw you fall, and thought you were dead."
For the first time that night Rakoczy's face lit up with his genial
smile.
"I carry a bullet-catcher," he answered pleasantly; and taking a massive
gold watch from his breast-pocket, he handed it to me.
"They've spoiled it as a time-keeper," he continued, "but it will come
in as a curiosity."
The watch had a double cover, and was enclosed in a bag of thick chamois
leather, a part of which had been forced into the case by the impact of
the bullet.
The case itself was badly battered and the works smashed.
I passed it to the other fellows, who examined it in profound
astonishment and warmly congratulated the colonel on his marvellous
escape.
"Yes," said he brightly; "but for that watch Goergei might have looked
for a new colonel."
"We prefer to keep our old one, though he does wear a watch that won't
tell the time," I remarked.
Dobozy asked if it could be mended, but the colonel said he preferred
keeping it as it was, which I certainly should have done.
We did not sit long, having to rise early; and in the morning, as soon
as it could be managed, Rakoczy turned out the regiment to pay the last
honours to our valiant opponent.
We buried him in the Catholic cemetery, where I made arrangements for a
handsome stone to be erected in his memory. It stands there to this
day.
When all was over, the men marched back to the strains of martial music,
while I felt as sorrowful as if we had been assisting to bury a valued
friend.
Fortunately, a soldier on active service has little leisure in which to
indulge his grief, and thus it was with me now.
So greatly had the regiment lost in officers that the survivors were
compelled to do more than double duty, and for several days I had not an
hour to myself.
One event, though not exactly bearing on my story, must be chronicled,
since it shows the generosity of Goergei's nature.
During the fierce fighting on the ninth of April the Austrian general,
Gatz, had fallen while at the head of his men, and our chief, anxious to
honour the memory of a gallant adversary, did on a large scale what we
had done for Von Arnstein, and accorded him a magnificent military
funeral.
The display was of a most imposing description, and when the body of the
brave Austrian had been laid to rest, the ceremony was concluded by the
discharge of a hundred guns.
Meanwhile, grave events were taking place. Just as the battle of
Isaszeg had cut off the Austrian right wing, so now their left was
completely broken up, and it became plain that Windischgratz must
evacuate Pesth.
"Another stroke like the last," said Rakoczy one evening as we sat
chatting in his room, "and the thing will be done."
"Unless Kossuth's party should try to drive too hard a bargain."
"Oh no," replied the colonel cheerfully. "The Austrians know exactly
what we want. The emperor has only to be crowned King of Hungary, and
swear to restore our ancient rights. He will do that as soon as our
army appears under the walls of Vienna."
"It isn't much, especially when--"
A loud banging at the door cut the sentence short, and in walked my
brother, looking flushed and excited.
Neither of us had seen him since the meeting at Isaszeg, and we had not
the faintest notion he was in Waitzen.
He shook hands with us warmly, drank a glass of wine which Rakoczy
poured out, and sat down.
"Care to turn in?" asked the colonel. "My bed's doing nothing, and you
look tired."
Stephen shook his head. "I'm off in a couple of hours; only waiting to
rest my horse."
"There's nothing wrong, I hope?"
"Nothing wrong!" exclaimed my brother. "Everything's wrong! Haven't
you heard the news from Debreczin? Here, read this!" and he drew a
printed paper from his pocket.
The colonel spread it on the table, and as he read the contents aloud I
began to understand the meaning of Stephen's words.
The document, signed by the members of the National Diet, proclaimed in
vigorous language the independence of Hungary. The House of
Hapsburg-Lorraine was deposed, its members banished from the country,
and Hungary, as a free state, was to be governed by Kossuth.
"What do you think of it?" asked Stephen testily, as if we had drawn up
the proclamation.
"'Twould be rather more to the point to know what Goergei thinks of it,"
the colonel replied in his cool way. "I suppose he wasn't consulted over
this--waste paper?"
"Yes he was, and went dead against it. Kossuth came to Godolo, and
there was a very stormy meeting, I can tell you."
"What did Goergei say?"
"That we didn't want a republic, and wouldn't have one. That our
soldiers were royalists, and in arms to defend the constitution--not to
depose the king. In short, that Kossuth's scheme would plunge the
country into misery."
"It means a Russian invasion," remarked Rakoczy. "It means the loss of
all the Sclavonic states, and Hungary dragooned into another Poland."
My brother tossed his head contemptuously. "We would chance all that,"
he said. "A Magyar doesn't stop to count the odds against him; but we
aren't going to spill blood like water, just to make Kossuth dictator!"
"We can't draw back now," I said.
"That's just it. We must either continue fighting, or desert our
country when it has the greatest need of us."
"Stuff!" said Stephen. "Were I Goergei, I would settle the matter in a
month."
Rakoczy bubbled over with laughter; but, seeing how much in earnest my
brother was, he tried hard to keep a straight face, and asked how he
proposed to do it.
"It's very simple," Stephen replied. "The army is devoted to Goergei,
and will do what he wishes. Let him swoop down on the Austrians, win
another battle--which would be easy enough--and then offer to close the
war, on condition that our ancient rights are restored."
"And what of this?" I asked, laying my hand on the declaration of
independence.
"Pooh! It will be useful to the people for wrapping up parcels."
"I believe the plan would work out all right," said Rakoczy
thoughtfully, "but we mustn't try it. Don't you see, my boy, that it
would open a civil war, and we should have to join the Austrians in
crushing our own people. No, no. Rather let Hungary become an Austrian
fief than that Magyar should destroy Magyar."
"The other side doesn't study that."
"All the more reason why we should. How would you like to help the
Austrians burn down Pesth, because Louis Kossuth was inside it?"
Stephen turned away with a shudder. "It seems that we must tie our own
hands," he remarked gloomily.
"You've hit it exactly; but we can untie them to fight against the
enemy. By the way, our acquaintance, Baron von Arnstein, is dead."
"I'm sorry to hear that. What a blow to his pretty daughter!"
"And to the baroness. But come; in the general excitement I quite
forgot to ask you to eat," and the colonel ordered supper to be laid
immediately.
We had barely finished when a clatter of hoofs was heard outside, and a
soldier brought word that Captain Botskay's horses were ready.
"Then I must go," exclaimed my brother, "though that wretched paper has
taken the heart out of my work."
"Yes," said the colonel, after he had gone. "This precious document
will work the cause more harm than the loss of a dozen battles."
Now I would not have you suppose we bore any ill-will to Louis Kossuth
and his party; but we did not belong to them, their aims were not ours,
and, in addition, we believed they were grasping at more than they were
able to hold.
Of Kossuth's genius and marvellous eloquence, of his untiring energy,
his passionate love for Hungary and hatred to Austria, I have already
spoken.
He caused the raw material of armies to start from the soil; he created
money, manufactured guns, turned the ploughshares into swords and
bayonets, stored ammunition, roused the people to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm, and was, in short, the mainspring of the revolution amongst
the civilians.
He did not profess to be a soldier, and the taunts that he never
appeared on the battle-field, except to run away, I held to be both
unjust and ungenerous. His place was at the council chamber, not in the
camp. Whether he was ambitious for himself, I know not; and it matters
little, as the gulf between us was so vast that it could not be bridged.
We, the party of the nobles and most of the old soldiers in Goergei's
army, wished only to regain our ancient rights. Kossuth and his friends
openly endeavoured to make Hungary into a republic. In the days of our
adversity the little rift was not seen; now it suddenly became a yawning
chasm.
From the general to the private arose murmurs of discontent, and I
verily believe that, had Goergei done what my brother proposed, he would
have carried the army with him to a man.
Some even to this day blame him for not exerting his strength at the
critical moment; but when I think of the awful misery which must have
followed, I am glad that he acted as he did. Each day now brought us
news of some further success. Everywhere the Austrians fell back, until
at length we heard that our centre had entered Pesth, which the enemy
had evacuated on the previous day.
Much to our surprise, there came with this information an order for the
9th Honveds to fall back on the capital.
Rakoczy, of course, instantly set about obeying, but he was obviously
ill at ease, as Goergei was still chasing the flying Austrians to
Presburg.
"It seems to me we ought to march forward to Vienna, not back to Pesth,"
he exclaimed.
I pointed out that the Austrians had probably left a garrison in Buda.
"Well? What of it?" he asked. "You don't suppose we're going to waste
precious time there, while the imperialists rally? Why, all we have to
do now is to keep them running till they reach Vienna. I really thought
you were a better soldier than that, George."
"I daresay you will find me up to the government standard," I replied,
laughing at the wry face he made.
Several of the officers and many of the men were by this time fit to
resume duty, but numerous familiar faces were still missing when the
regiment started on its way to Pesth.
We found the capital filled with citizens and soldiers in a state of
high glee. Now that the Austrians had really disappeared, they thought
that the war was over and done with.
Our regiment, which received quite an ovation from the crowd, was
quartered in the barracks, and during several days we had leisure to
roam about the bright and beautiful city.
The red, white, and green stripes fluttered proudly from the tops of the
magnificent palaces. Nobles and ladies rode by in handsome carriages
drawn by fine Hungarian horses. The streets were crowded by soldiers in
uniform and citizens dressed in the national costume. Every one was in
the highest spirits and the utmost good-humour.
One blot existed on the pleasant scene--the black and yellow flag
floating from the Buda fortress (on the other side of the river), which
sheltered General Hentzi with 3,000 veterans and 90 guns; but for the
moment it was ignored.
"What a magnificent spectacle!" exclaimed Rakoczy, as we strolled one
morning along the river embankments, and gazed at the blue waters of the
mighty Danube. "I sometimes think there can scarcely be a finer sight
in the world than the twin cities present. Look at the Blocksberg on
the other side of the river."
"A fine place to batter the fortress from," I said.
"Oh! let us forget the war a bit; we shall soon be in harness again."
"Very well. We'll talk about the feats of civilization. There's a fine
example!" and I pointed to that triumph of engineering skill, the noble
suspension bridge built by an Englishman named Clarke; it joins the two
cities by spanning the river.
I had rarely seen my friend so strangely moved. His face became quite
sad, his eyes were dim, and when he spoke his voice was husky.
"Hungary owes that, as she owes almost everything else in modern years,
to as true a patriot as ever lived," he said softly. "You did not know
Count Stephen Szechenyi?"
"Only by repute," I answered.
"No; his best work was done before your time. He was Hungary's great
man, George. Kossuth, Batthiany, and Goergei have simply entered into
the fruits of his labour. He built the foundations sure, and firm, and
strong. It was in '25 that he rose in the Diet, and addressed the
assembly in the Magyar tongue; till then the debates had been conducted
in Latin. He toiled early and late, in season and out of season. He
gave his fortune, his brains, his leisure, to his country; even his
reason was sacrificed; and now, a broken and helpless wreck, he is an
inmate of an Austrian lunatic asylum. Patriot and martyr, he has been
cast aside like a broken reed. The people have a fresh hero now--one
who can tickle their fancies and flatter their vanity by his burning
eloquence--a brand-new hero, my boy. Let the old one go rot."
We walked on a little way in silence, and then with his usual cheery
smile my companion added,--
"The fit doesn't come often, and is soon over, but it's hot while it
lasts. Really, though, when I think of Count Stephen's ruined life, and
how he was tossed aside at last, I feel awfully wild. Now let us turn
back; there's still time for a stroll in the town before we are due at
the barracks. Hallo! there's Count Beula. Pass him with a nod if you
can; I don't like that fellow."
However, the count, whom we had not seen since the revolt in Vienna, had
no mind that we should pass unrecognized.
He was dressed in the uniform of a staff officer, and walked with a
military swagger that was not without a certain grace.
At first he affected astonishment at seeing us in the Honved uniform,
saying he thought we had joined the Austrians. Then he congratulated us
on the declaration of independence, and hoped we should have a part in
the capture of Buda.
All this he spoke in the smoothest tones, choosing his words so that
they might wound and yet afford no handle for offence, smiling when he
hurt us most, pretending he thought we were pleased, and inquiring for
Stephen, whom he hated, as if the two were the closest friends.
I, being young, could not conceal my annoyance; but Rakoczy gave the
count smile for smile, jest for jest, praise of Kossuth in return for
praise of Goergei, and, in fact, as the French say, a Roland for his
Oliver every time.
"A clever, smooth-tongued rascal," exclaimed he, when at length the
count took himself off. "I wonder where he has been."
"At Debreczin, most likely; he's just the sort of man to do his
soldiering in the drawing-room."
"I'm not so sure of that. A boaster isn't always a coward. Did you
hear what he said about the taking of Buda?"
"Yes."
"That comes from Kossuth, you may depend; and if so, all is lost."
"Unless Goergei interferes."
"Ah!" said the colonel, "he loves his country too much for that," and we
walked on without further conversation.