Eyes Like the Sea — 20 - Chapter 15, part 2
I could not help being sorry for her.
I perceived also that she forbore to take my hand.
Still, it is a rather ticklish position to become the guardian of a pretty woman, especially a pretty woman of this kind.
"Very well, I don't mind.
But let us consider the whole business seriously.
I suppose the lieutenant agrees to it?"
Wenceslaus Kvatopil assured me that he had no will of his own in the matter.
"Well, now, let us consider the merits of the case.
Have you still got the money which you deposited in the Vienna savings bank?"
"Yes, and as soon as you are my guardian, I mean to draw it out and deposit it in the bank at Pest."
"So much the better, it will be more convenient for the quarterly payments of interest.
And then, too, you will have to pay out of this amount the usual caution-money required of every officer about to marry."
"Yes, I know.
Six thousand florins."
"Of course, you might also mortgage your father's house to this amount."
"Whichever you think best."
"I think the latter way will be best, for I foresee that you will get very little profit from your houses, and I want to save as much of your ready money as possible."
"_Save_, do you say?"
cried Bessy, opening her eyes very wide at this word.
I scratched my head all over (I had lots of hair to scratch in those days).
It was my duty as guardian to express my views with perfect candour.
At last I found the requisite formula.
"Look now, my sweet ward Bessy, and you also, respected lieutenant, I have seen all sorts of wonders in my lifetime.
I have seen a one-legged ballet-dancer who could turn the most difficult pirouettes; I have seen a painter without hands who painted masterly pictures with his feet; I have seen a blind actor who played Hamlet right to the very end.
But what I never have seen yet is a cavalry officer without debts."
At this, the pair of them burst into a loud ha!
ha!
ha!
"No, no!"
cried the bridegroom, "I am not such a wonder as that!"
I now begged him, since we had become so confidential, to be so good as to draw his chair close to the table and put down his beautiful helmet with the black and yellow plumes and go into figures.
"How much do your debts amount to?"
And a very pretty little amount he made of it.
The bridegroom could read from my face that I thought the amount a trifle extravagant for a lieutenant; for that amount Bessy could have got a major at least.
He hastened to explain matters.
"I did not incur this large debt myself, the culprit was another lieutenant, a friend of mine, a rich and distinguished young fellow.
He got me to write my name to a bill as guarantor of the amount.
He was still a minor.
I wrote my name, of course--what did I know about it?
Suddenly, when my young friend got over head and ears in difficulties, he blew his brains out.
His father refused to pay the bill, and so I inherited it from his creditors.
Since then I have been paying and paying, but the debt, instead of diminishing, increases, and the terrible _boa conscriptor_ winds itself tighter and tighter round my body."
A boa conscriptor indeed, was this gigantic conscriptor[96] serpent!
[Footnote 96: A translation of the Hungarian word _Osszeiro_, which means a conscript or schedule of anything, _here_ a schedule of debts.
] At this we all three laughed again, which was rather odd, for there was nothing at all to laugh at.
The long and the short of it all was that after discharging her lover's debts, and depositing the caution-money, my ward Bessy still had twenty-five thousand florins left.
"All right," said she, "that's just why I asked you to be my guardian, for if the money remains in my hands, every bit of it will vanish by the end of the year."
"I wonder you've kept it so long."
"The wonder is owing to the fact that my mother inhibited the payment of the amount to me, and this embargo can only be removed when I am married to a man of rank and honour."
"You'll have to be very economical in your housekeeping," I said, "not to exceed your income."
"There's Kvatopil's pay, too, and as a cavalry officer he is entitled to free unfurnished quarters."
"And you'll be able to put up with an officer's free quarters?"
I said.
"You know very well that to such things" ...
(I saw that she meant to say, "I am used to such things," and I pulled a wry face.
She rightly understood from my pantomime that it would be scarcely _proper_ to mention the events of "Anno Rengetegi" in the presence of her Royal and Imperial[97] bridegroom, so, with theatrical _savoir-faire_, she passed in an instant from the impudent nonchalance of a _vivandière_ to the tender cooing of a turtle-dove) ...
"true love is always ready to sacrifice itself."
And with an enchanting smile she extended her hand to her bridegroom, who raised it with tender enthusiasm to his lips.
They were just like turtle-doves.
[Footnote 97: Royal as belonging to the service of the King of Hungary, Imperial as serving the Emperor of Austria.
] "Eh, Wenzy?"
"Yes, Eliza!"
I felt no particular pleasure in this version of Romeo and Juliet, indeed I was half-inclined to hiss the performers.
"Before giving you my paternal blessing, my dear children," said I, "I have one question to ask you.
Most honoured Mr. Lieutenant, as I understand that you were originally intended for a priest, I presume that you are a Catholic?"
"A Roman Catholic, yes."
"During the time you spent in the Seminary, then, have you not so much as learnt that a Catholic is not free to marry a Calvinist woman whom the civil tribunals have divorced from her husband; for, according to Catholic dogma, marriage is a sacrament which the secular power cannot dissolve?"
At this the bridegroom looked very much amazed.
"Neither of us thought of this certainly."
Bessy suddenly cast a basilisk look at me.
Huh!
what lightnings flashed in those sea-like eyes!
"Then how are we to get over that?"
inquired the bridegroom of me, with childlike helplessness.
"Why, by your becoming a Calvinist, I suppose."
"A _Calvi_ ..."
he was already outside the door when he said the ...
"_nist_!"
He caught up his helmet and bolted without saying good-bye to any one.
Clerk Coloman told me afterwards he had never seen a dragoon in such a hurry.
Bessy he left behind on my hands.
The young lady was in a terrible rage.
"It was pure malice on your part," cried she, "to do me out of my bridegroom like that!
What do you mean by it?
To serve me such a nasty trick as that!"
I justified myself as best I could.
"He would have had to know it sooner or later.
The priest would have refused to unite you."
"You should have left that to me.
If once I had paid his debts, his honour as a gentleman would have bound him to make this sacrifice for me; he could not have got out of it then."
I was forced to admit that I had acted very clumsily.
I humbly begged her pardon.
I would never do it again.
Her next bridegroom might be a Mohammedan, for all that I cared.
"You never could speak sensibly to me.
No matter!
I'll bring Wenceslaus Kvatopil back here one of these days."
And off she went in a huff.
This interruption had annoyed me.
I had lots to do.
I had to write the addresses of our subscribers on the covers of the neatly folded newspapers.
This was not an ideal occupation, especially when one had to paste on the wrappers as well, which it was also _my_ business to do.
Some proof-sheets were also awaiting me with a lot of printers' errors.
It was a realization of the proverb, "When the church is poor, the parson tolls the bell himself."
In my leisure hours, however--my time of repose--I went on with my romance, "A Hungarian Nabob"; the idea of the principal character I had borrowed from a story of my wife's. A couple of weeks elapsed.
One evening, when I was hesitating whether I should go and see about my oil-lamp myself, or wait till clerk Coloman returned home from the post, or the chamber-maid from the theatre, whither she had gone to carry my consort her costume in a basket, a violent ringing began outside.
I had to go and open the door myself.
To my great surprise, I saw Bessy before me with her lieutenant on her arm.
Wenceslaus Kvatopil was bubbling over with affability.
"Here I am again, sir.
They have arrested me, and put me in chains.
I
must surrender."
Yes, I thought, when the starving garrison is reduced to horse-flesh.
"The siege was vigorous.
Such batteries.
Look!
Those eyes!
Congreve rockets are nothing in comparison.
The star battery is already taken."
"The firing must have been terrible indeed."
"And now I must ask you once more to be my witness."
"You mean your bride's witness?"
"No, mine.
First you must come with me to the priest to inform him that I have renounced the Catholic faith."
"What, already?"
"Yes, and from conviction."
"Would you take a chair, please?"
"From absolute conviction."
"Bessy is a more clever arguer than any missionary; an energetic propagandist."
"And if I were to be damned on the spot, if I were to lose my hope of eternal salvation, I should be ready to sacrifice that also for those dear, lovely eyes."
"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 Rákóczy; 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 Görgey--on foot.
On my way I met Paul Nyáry.
"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 Nyáry 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 Nyáry 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 Petöfi'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-fé_ 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.
The rendezvous took place in her apartments.
Here I had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of my fellow-witness, the major of dragoons, and a very genial man he was.
He was a good copy of a genuine Hungarian lord-lieutenant of a county.
Nothing but cordial hilarity and jovial merriment, you would never have taken him for a soldier, least of all for an Austrian soldier.
He blackguarded the "Bach[100]-hussars," but had nothing but praise for the Hungarians.
He had not been shut up in Temesvar like the lieutenant, but had been fighting in Italy, and had only just come hither.
He had the habit of seasoning his discourse with Hungarian proverbs and pithy aphorisms.
He introduced his wife to me also.
"My domestic dragon," he said; he could not dispense with his jesting even then.
The lady, however, clearly did not belong to the dragon species.
On the contrary, she was a remarkably pleasant woman, in the prime of life, with really handsome features.
One thing I will say of her: when once she began to talk she never knew when to leave off.
Her conversation knew neither rest nor pause.
In my eyes, however, this is an advantage, for it is my invariable practice to entertain my lady friends by letting them talk to their hearts' content, while I listen.
[Footnote 100: The reactionary Austrian Minister who was mainly responsible for the attempted denationalization of Hungary.
--TR.
] When the bride was still in her boudoir, the major's lady made me thoroughly acquainted with the family affairs of all the officers' wives in the regiment.
When the bride appeared in all her bridal glory, accompanied by the bridegroom, who held his helmet in one hand and a gigantic bouquet of camellias in the other, the exchange of notes between the witness of the bridegroom and the witness of the bride took place with all the usual formalities.
Towards me the major acted with the studied courtesy of a high Government official, but towards the lieutenant he acted the part of a senior officer from beginning to end.
He ordered him about as if he were sitting on horseback and on the point of setting out for scout duty.
And the lieutenant obeyed him like a machine.
In fact, the bridegroom quite gave me the impression of a man sitting in his saddle at the head of his squadron.
The small arms were beginning to fire, the musket balls were piping about his ears, the hissing grenades strike the ground in front of him, and he cannot so much as move his head aside till the liberating command sounds: "Forward!
March!
Draw your swords!
On 'em!
Cut, slash!"
Stop!
What am I saying?
Here was no question of cutting and slashing!
No; press her to your breast, rather!
Is she not your bride?
Finally, at the word of command, we reached the altar.
It was all over.
I had given Bessy away.
She was married.
She bore up very gallantly; but then, of course, she had had a deal of practice.
But as for the bridegroom, every one of his movements had to be by order; he was accustomed to have it so.
He was so moved indeed that he could scarcely draw off his glove, and would have forced the bride to stand on the right hand, whereas the priest wished her to pass to the left; and when the ceremony was over, he turned towards his own witness with the expression of a delinquent condemned to death who has now no hope left save in the mercy of the Court of Appeal.
"We have been married with our left hands," he stammered.
His best man reassured him: "Have no fear of that, my son.
'Tis the usual thing.
The bride always stands on the left, but your right hands were duly placed within each other."
"Impossible!"
Worthy Kvatopil did not seem to know which was his right hand and which was his left.
On the way home the happy bride and bridegroom sat together in a little coach.
A splendid banquet awaited the guests in Bessy's lodgings.
The table was already spread.
When the happy husband had conducted his darling yoke-fellow into the midst of us, he, without more ado, flung himself on the sofa, and, hiding his face in the palms of both hands, began to weep bitterly.
Such a wonder as that is surely not to be seen for either love or money!
That a bridegroom should weep fit to break his heart immediately after the marriage ceremony, and bewail the loss of his bachelordom in floods of bitter tears!
The two ladies, however, took him in hand between them, and began to entreat and console him, but he could not stifle this outburst of feeling.
The major also reassured him very prettily: "Come, come, my dear friend, you need not take it so tragically.
Look at me now!
I've been through it all!
Look how well I get on with my domestic dragon!"
This, however, was poor balm to him in his great affliction.
At last the major fairly lost his temper.
"A thousand Turkish skulls!
What's this, lieutenant?
Do you wish to regale us with a specimen of the higher morality?
Bombs and grenades!
Embrace your wife, sir, immediately!"
Bessy looked at me as if she were on the point of weeping.
I pitied her from the bottom of my heart.
"Mr. Lieutenant," I said, "have you ever learnt English?"
The newly-married husband was amazed.
"Yes," said he.
"From Ollendorf's grammar?"
"Yes."
"Do you recollect exercise No. 2: '_Why does the Captain weep?
--Because the Englishman has no bread.
_'--Well, then, let us _give_ the Englishman some bread."
At this every one burst out laughing.
The lieutenant also laughed.
And so this scene came to an end.
We sat down to table, and amidst the merry ring of glasses we made a good deal of fun out of the odd and mystical question of Ollendorf's, "Why does the Captain weep?"
and the still more curious answer, "Because the Englishman has no bread."
The lieutenant's frame of mind remained an inexplicable enigma to me.
In after years I discovered its true solution.
The cause of his weeping was altogether different from what Ollendorf had supposed.
CHAPTER XVI
