Part 24 (1/2)
”I stamped my foot impatiently, and bawled at him to come away from the door and let me go my way.
”Then it was that Peter showed his true colours.
”'My lady, this cannot be! The good and worthy squire, when he gave me the ten oxen to take back my wife, said this to me: ”Well! Peter Gyuricza, if you bring my wife home also, ten young calves shan't stand between us.”'
(The rocks and woods re-echoed with my laughter. I couldn't keep it back.)
”Then my fury boiled over. You know that when I fly into a rage I am a perfect lioness, don't you? I s.n.a.t.c.hed the stick from Peter Gyuricza's hand. 'Lubber, lout! I'll give you your ten young calves! There you are, take them!' I don't know whether I gave him exactly ten blows. I didn't count them. And the big lout of a man turned tail, rushed into the room, dodged round the table, and roared like a hippopotamus, while I broke the stick over his shoulders. His consort thought it best not to interfere, but leaped upon the bench and looked on. It was a real luxury for her to meet with some one who could thoroughly trounce her tyrant.
”I only wish my previous journey had not fatigued me so much.
”I began to recover a little when I found myself out in the fields, and the breeze blew the heat out of my head. My idyll had come to a pretty end. What was I to do now? One thing was certain, I could not return to Muki Bagotay.
”But whither was I to go, then?
”Before me lay the beautiful Danube. The road by the dam ran all the way along it. From time to time I leaned against an old willow-tree and looked at the great living-water. Now and then a fish would leap up into the air with a loud splash. I was not afraid of the water, but of the fishes I was afraid. I could not kill myself. I should have rejoiced, if that had been true with which they used to frighten us in our childish days when we leaned over the bank and looked into the water: Beware of the devil who lurks behind you and will push you in! But he didn't push me in. The devil can do nothing now. He cannot compete at all with the sons of men. But was it really worth while to kill myself for the sake of two such men as Muki Bagotay and Peter Gyuricza? No, my death would then have been as ridiculous as my life!
”I thought I would go home to my mother. She couldn't exactly turn me out of doors. Let her punish me as she will--I'll humble myself; I'll bow down before her; I'll endure her wrath. After all, is she not my mother, and am I not her only child? She cannot but love her little one.
From any one else I could not expect to find pity or love. Why, I even hated myself!
”With these thoughts I set off towards the town.
”It was baking hot. A strong south wind was blowing, as dry and burning as if it had come out of a stove. Clouds of sand covered the whole region, and whenever a gust came, I had to take refuge under a willow-tree, lest I should be hurled into the dam. I can't say what time of the day it was, but I know that it was the forenoon to me, for I had eaten nothing yet that day. The Gyuriczas had forgotten to invite me to sit down to their dumplings.... To quench my thirst, I descended once or twice to the Danube and drank some water out of the palm of my hand. On the road-side I found a flower which I thought was a cheese-poppy. I tasted it, but it was very nasty. Weary as I was, I must hasten to get to the town as soon as possible. I should have been glad even of such a piece of bread as I used to distribute to the beggars at home on Friday.
”I was hastening on towards the town, when suddenly a kind of darkness rose up before me in the sky, and on looking at it more attentively, I was horrified to observe that in the town a fire had broken out, the black smoke of which was rolling up into the dust-clouded sky.
”The burning simoon blew back the black smoke upon the town. Great Heaven! the whole town will be reduced to ashes.
”And now I began to run. I forgot that I was weary, I forgot that I was hungry. Fear lent me fresh strength. The nearer I got to the town the higher the smoke rolled up. Now, however, it was not black, but red.
Millions of sparks shot flas.h.i.+ng upwards, and huge fragments of flaming roofs were to be seen flying in the midst of them. When a tiled house caught fire, the burning tiles s.h.i.+vered like fiery rockets in every direction. A whole street was already in flames when I reached the town.
Howling heaps of men, carts and carriages in full career, wailing women, children half crushed and suffocated, and in the midst of them all lowing kine and oxen wildly struggling back into their dark stables at the sight of the conflagration--the whole ma.s.s was rus.h.i.+ng backwards and forwards in aimless confusion. I forced my way into a side street, lest I should be crushed to death, with the intention of getting home that way. Everywhere I encountered lamenting crowds attempting to drag along the streets the things they had saved from their houses. n.o.body thought of extinguis.h.i.+ng the flames. The burning embers fell in torrents. When I got to my mother's house I found it already wrapped in flames. It was the highest house in the street. A handful of Honveds were attempting to extinguish the flames. Others had mounted on the roof, and were throwing the furniture out of the windows. I saw a gold-framed picture flying through the air--it was the portrait of my poor father. Oh! he indeed used to love me. If he had only lived, I should not be what I am now.
There were none but strange faces around me. In vain I asked them where my mother was. They had not heard of her. All at once a white-collared officer, some major or other I suppose, came up and cried to the fire-extinguis.h.i.+ng Honveds, 'Why are you putting out that fire? It doesn't deserve it. It was there that the colonel lodged who set the town on fire! Leave the cursed hole alone, and go and protect the hospital!' I knew not whether I had gone mad or not. Why did they curse our house? The Honveds began execrating the name of a colonel who had often come to our _soirees_. If they recognise me, I thought, perhaps they'll pitch me into the fire also. One heavy cart after another rattled over my poor father's portrait. I couldn't even save that. I was aroused from my benumbing stupor by a frightful yell, the shout of thousands and thousands of men: 'Saint Andrew's Church is burning!' One of the slender towers of that vast cathedral was already in flames, while in the other the alarm-bells were ringing furiously. The mob carried me with it. Every one hastened along to save the church. But it was already too late. The other tower had also caught fire, the bells were silenced, the roof of the church was also ablaze. The beautiful church banners, which the guildsmen used to carry all round the town with great pomp on Corpus Christi day, were dragged out half charred amidst the falling firebrands. The heat was so terrible that one could not remain in the market-place. 'The whole town's done for!' cried the men. 'Let us fly to the island!' And with that the human flood poured through the narrow streets towards the Danube. The thought occurred to me that _there_ was a little villa which belonged to us. Happy thought!
Perhaps I might find my mother there: she might have fled there for refuge. So I went along with the human torrent. By the time we got to the island drawbridge, it was impossible to get any farther through the densely packed crowd. Why were they coming back? Because the drawbridge was also burning. It was a terrible spectacle. The whole Danube sh.o.r.e was in flames, and the drawbridge leading to the island carried the conflagration still farther. The Danube was hissing with falling red-hot beams. Corn-s.h.i.+ps, windmills, swam blazing along, and dashed against the ice-breakers. A band of armed Honveds posted by the custom-house kept the people back from rus.h.i.+ng upon the burning bridge. They told us what had happened. There was a greater danger even than fire. An Imperial regiment had tried to creep quietly into the town. They were already at Tata. The citizens, however, had found it out, and raised the drawbridge against them. The troops, enraged at the failure of their stratagem, had set the town on fire. What a cursing there was! I heard one particular name branded again and again, the name of the colonel who was to have married my mother if the revolution had not intervened.”
I could not go on with my drawing. The mist no longer lay upon the landscape, but upon my eyes.
The young lady continued circ.u.mstantially the history of those horrors:--
”Then three cannon-shots thundered from the fortress. No doubt it was only a signal which the troops often give in times of fire. But at this roaring of guns the fear of the people became still greater. 'The enemy is storming the town!' At this the whole crowd, which had hitherto entirely covered the Danube's bank, immediately rushed back again into the burning town, through the flaming streets and the burning rafters.
'To the Waag, to the Waag!'[75] everybody cried. In that direction there was a hope of deliverance. I am only amazed that I was not crushed to death. In my terror I seized hold of a boatman's arm, and the worthy man, whom I had never seen before, allowed me to cling on to him like grim death; a.s.sured me that he would take care I was not left behind, and dragged me along with him over the backs of the struggling mob.”
[Footnote 75: A confluent of the Danube.]
Here she had to pause. The recollections of these horrors stopped her breath. Pearls of sweat stood upon her forehead. It was only after a very long pause that she was able to resume.
”I shall never forget that day. The alarm-bells were still pealing from a single tower, the tower of the Calvinist church. All the other church towers were in ashes, this one alone remained. The wind was blowing in a contrary direction. The fire had not yet extended to that part of the town. Every one hastened in the direction of the Calvinist church tower.
The streets in the vicinity of the fortress were barred against the flying crowd by the Honved regiments; the only street by which it was possible to get to the Waag was Sunday Street. This also was half in flames, but from where Great St. Michael Street cuts across it, it still remained untouched. Your house was the border building beyond which the fire had not yet extended, but the inn at the opposite corner was burned to the ground. Oh, that dear familiar house, with those cool corridors, and those red marble columns, on the iron cross-bars of which you, as a boy, so often used to show off your acrobatic feats before me! The thought occurred to me of seeking sanctuary there in my great extremity.