Part 39 (1/2)
”Come, come, Mr. Lieutenant,” I said, ”pray don't talk so wildly.”
”But I mean what I say--I am ready to become a Mohammedan for her sake.”
”I can quite believe it.”
”Then you will be my witness at the priest's?”
”Pardon me. 'Tis a serious matter. I honour my own religion as much as other sects honour theirs, yet I am no proselytizer. Do you wish to become a Calvinist from sincere conviction?”
At this word he leaped furiously from his seat.
”A Calvinist? Certainly not! Heaven forbid!”
”Then what do you want to be?”
”I want to be a Lutheran.”
”'Tis all one.”
”The devil it is! We at Leutomischl hold the Calvinists to be infidels.”
”Your bride might have told you, I think, that this is not true.”
At this, Bessy again intervened. She implored me prettily not to deny her this little kindness. Kvatopil had only consented to be converted because they have crosses in the Lutheran churches and believe in the sacraments, so that by joining them a man does not risk losing his heavenly hopes so much, and the Commander-in-chief would not be down upon him so fiercely as if he were to go over to the Calvinist Kuruczes.[98] The end of it all was that I, a Calvinist presbyter, had to introduce a newly-converted soul into the Lutheran Church.
[Footnote 98: _Kurucz_, a name originally given to the Transylvanian insurgents under Francis Rakoczy; they were mostly Protestants.--TR.]
I really must have been a very good sort of fellow formerly, that is to say, before my heart was hardened.
At last every obstacle was overcome. I consented to give away my ward, Wenceslaus Kvatopil's bride. Bessy received from her excellent mother (who was now a general's wife) intimation that she had withdrawn her sequestration from the money in the Vienna bank; the caution-money was deposited, the boa conscriptors were satisfied, and nothing hindered us from going to church.
The marriage party, besides the bride and bridegroom, consisted of two witnesses; the bridegroom's witness was a battalion commander, a major who brought his wife with him.
And here, perhaps, every one will ask me why the wife of the _other_ witness was not there also?
It is an awkward question.
I might, I know, summarily dispose of the whole matter by saying that my wife had just gone, by special invitation, to act at Szabadka; she had been invited, but could not come. But this answer, I know, is unsatisfactory.
I would, however, first of all, lay down this axiom: ”An honourable husband should give his wife _no occasion_ for jealousy; but neither ought he to make her jealous _without occasion_.”
The sacred truth is that I had never mentioned Bessy's name in my wife's hearing. (”Slipper-hero!”) Did she know of her? I don't know. She was much too proud to have ever shown it if she did.
I had Bessy's portrait, and it was in the drawer of my writing-table. It was there even when I got married. And if it had found its way into any one's hands, I could not have said that it was the portrait of my grandmother. But this is what did happen. When the Russian armies broke into the kingdom, I, foreseeing the end of the unequal struggle, shouldered my musket, tied on my sword, fastened my knapsack round my neck, took leave of my wife, and went forth to seek the camp of Gorgey--on foot. On my way I met Paul Nyary. ”Whither away so armed to the teeth, brother Maurice?” said he. ”I am going to die for my country,” I replied, with tragic pathos. ”And what have you got in your knapsack?” ”A ham.” ”Well, before dying for your country, let us have a bit of that ham of yours together.” With that he helped me up into his car, and in the car beside him was already sitting Joseph Patay--two members of the Hungary Government at Debreczin, in fact. I was curious enough to inquire whither we were going, whereupon Nyary replied:
”The dog that bolts to Szeged town T'wards Buda lets his tail hang down.”[99]
[Footnote 99: Buda and Szeged being in diametrically opposite directions.]
Even with the danger of instant death hanging over his head, his bitter irony never forsook him. So I went on with Nyary to Szeged. A week afterwards my wife followed me. Our house she had entrusted to poor old Dame Kovacs. The clever comic actress had no need to fear the Cossacks.
When, however, the Russians occupied Buda-Pest, and the rigorous order was issued that all arms, uniforms, and Hungarian bank-notes were to be given up, whilst every one in possession of a prohibited object or a revolutionary proclamation was to be tried by court-martial and shot, then indeed the good old dame ransacked all the drawers of my writing-table, and crumpling up into a heap all she found there, including Petofi's correspondence, a letter of Klapka's, the whole of my diary which I had written during the Revolution, with innumerable and invaluable data, pitched the whole behind the fire, and so they disappeared. In this great _auto-da-fe_ Bessy's portrait was also reduced to ashes. I therefore have my suspicions that something was known about it, but nothing was ever said to me on the subject.
So that, you see, was why _only I_ was present at Bessy's wedding.