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Debts of Honor, a novel by Maurus Jokai |
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Chapter 8. The End Of The Beginning |
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_ CHAPTER VIII. THE END OF THE BEGINNING Her ladyship, the beautiful wife of Balnokhazy, was playing with her parrot, when her husband entered her chamber. The lady was very fond of this creature--I mean of the parrot. "Well, my dear," said Balnokhazy, "has Koko learned already to utter Lorand's name?" "Not yet." "Well, he will soon learn. By the bye, do you know that Parliament is dissolved. Mr. Balnokhazy may now take his seat in peace beside his wife." "As far as I am concerned, it may dissolve." "Well, perhaps you will be interested so far; the good dancers will now go home. The young men of Parliament will disperse to their several homes." "I don't wish to detain them." "Of course not. Why, Lorand will remain here. But even Lorand will with difficulty be able to remain here. He must fly." "What do you say?" "What I ought not to say out. Nor would I tell anyone other than you, my dear, as we agreed. Do you understand?" "Partly. You are referring to the matter of secret journalism?" "Yes, my dear, and to other matters which I have heard from you." "Yes, from me. I told you frankly, what Lorand related to me in confidence, believing that I shared his enthusiastic ideas. I told you that you might use your knowledge for your own elevation. They were gifts of honor, as far as you are concerned, but I bound you not to bring any disgrace upon him from whom I learned the facts, and to inform me if any danger should threaten him." Balnokhazy bent nearer to his wife and whispered in her ear: "To-night arrests will take place." "Whom will they arrest?" "Several leaders of the Parliamentary youths, particularly those responsible for the dissemination of the written newspaper." "How can that affect Lorand? He has burned every writing; no piece of paper can be found in his room. The newspaper fragments, if they have come into strange hands, cannot be compared with his handwriting. If hitherto he wrote with letters leaning forwards, he will now lean them backwards: no one will be able to find any similarity in the handwritings. His brother, who copied them, has confessed nothing against him." "True enough; but I am inclined to think that he has not destroyed everything he has written in this town. Once he wrote some lines in the album of a friend. A poem or some such stupidity; and that album has somehow come into the hands of justice." "And who gave it over?" enquired the lady passionately. "As it happens, the owner of the album himself." "Gyali?" "The same, my dear. He too thought that one must use a good friend's shoulders to elevate himself." Madam Balnokhazy bit her pretty lips until blood came. "Can you not help Lorand further?" she inquired, turning suddenly to her husband. "Why, that is just what I am racking my brain to do." "Will you save him?" "That I cannot do, but I shall allow him to escape." "To escape?" "Surely there is no other choice, than either to let himself be arrested, or to escape secretly." "But in this matter we have made no agreement. It was not this you promised me." "My darling, don't place any confidence in great men's promises. The whole world over, diplomacy consists of deceit: you deceive me, I deceive you: you betrayed Lorand's confidence, and Lorand deserved it: why did he confide in you so? You cannot deny that I am the most polite husband in the world. A young man pays his addresses to my wife: I see it, and know it; I am not angry; I do not make him leap out of the window, I do not point my pistol at him: I merely slap him on the shoulder with perfect nonchalance, and say, 'my dear boy, you will be arrested to-night in your bed.'" Balnokhazy could laugh most jovially at such sallies of humor. The whole of his beautiful white teeth could be seen as he roared with laughter--(even the gold wire that held them in place.) My lady Hermine rose from beside him, and seemed to be greatly irritated. "You are only playing the innocent before me, but I know quite surely that you put Gyali up to handing over the album to the treasury." "You only wish to make yourself believe that, my dear, so that when Lorand disappears from the house, you may not be compelled to be angry with Gyali, but with me; for of course somebody must remain in the house." "Your insults cannot hurt me." "I did not wish to hurt you. My every effort was and always will be to make your life, my dear, ever more agreeable. Have I ever showed jealousy? Have I not behaved towards you like a father to a daughter about to be married?" "Don't remind me of that, sir. That is your most ungracious trait. It is true that you yourself have introduced into our house young men of every class of society. It is true that you have never guarded me against them:--but then in a short time, when you began to remark that I felt some affection towards some of them, you discovered always choice methods to make me despise and abhor them. Had you shut me up and guarded me with the severity of a convent, you would have shown me more consideration. But you are playing a dangerous game, sir: maybe the time will come when I shall not cast out him whom I have hated!" "Well, that will be your own business, my dear. But the first business is to tell our relation Lorand that by ten o'clock this evening he must not be found here: for at that hour they will come to arrest him." Hermine walked up and down her room in anger. "And it is all your work: it is useless for you to defend yourself," said she, tossing away her husband's hat from the arm-chair, and then throwing herself in a spiritless manner into it. "Why, I have no intention of defending myself," said Balnokhazy, good-humoredly picking up his rolling hat. "Of course I had a little share in it: why, you know it well enough, my dear. A man's first business is to create a career. I have to rise: you approve of that yourself; it is a man's duty to make use of every circumstance that comes to hand. Had I not done so, I should be a mere magistrate, somewhere in Szabolcs, who at the end of every three years kisses the hands of all the 'powers that be,' that they may not turn him out of office.[45] The present chancellor, Adam Reviczky, was one class ahead of me in the school. He too was the head of his class, as I was of mine. Every year I took his place: at every desk, where I sat in the first place, I found his name carved, and always carved, it out, putting mine in its place. He reached the height of the 'parabola,' and is now about to descend. Who knows what may happen next? At such times we must not mind if we make celebrated men of a few lads, whom at other times we did not remark."
"That only concerns me, not you." "It is, notwithstanding, terrible to ruin the career of a young man." "What will happen to him? He will fly away to the country to some friend of his, where no one will search for him. At most he will be prohibited from being 'called to the bar.' But it will not prevent him from being elected lawyer to the county court at the first renovation.[46] Besides, Lorand is a handsome fellow: and the harm the persecution of men has done him will soon be repaired by the aid of women." [Footnote 46: As explained above.] "Leave me to myself. I shall think about the matter." "I shall be deeply obliged to you. But, remember, please, ten o'clock this evening must not find here--the dear relation." Hermine hastened to her jewel-case with ostentation. Balnokhazy, as he turned in the doorway, could see with what feverish anxiety she unlocked it and fumbled among her jewels. With a smile on his face the husband went away. It is a fine instance of the irony of fate, when a woman is obliged to pawn her jewels in order to help someone escape whom she has loved, and whom she would love still to see about her,--to send him a hundred miles from her side. Hermine did indeed collect her jewels, and threw them into a travelling-bag. Then she sat down at her writing-table, and very hurriedly wrote something on some lilac-coloured letter paper on which the initials of her name had been stamped; this she folded up, sealed it and sent it by her butler to Lorand's room. Lorand had not yet stirred from the house that day; he did not know that part of the Parliamentary youth, gaining an inkling of the movement against them, had hurried to depart. When he had read the letter of the P. C.'s wife, he begged the butler to go to Mr. Gyali and ask him in his name to pay him a visit at once: he must speak a few words to him without fail. When the butler had gone, Lorand began to walk swiftly up and down his room. He was in search of something which he could not find, an idea. He sat again, driving his fist into his hand: then sprang up anew and hastened to the window, as if in impatient expectation of the new-comer. Suddenly a thought came to him: he began to put on gloves, fine, white kid gloves. Then he tried to clench his fist in them without tearing them. Perhaps he does not wish to touch, with uncovered hands, him for whom he is waiting! At last the street door opened, and steps made direct for his door. Only let him come! but he, whom he expected did not come alone: the first to open his door was not Pepi Gyali, but his brother, Desiderius. By chance they had met. Lorand received his brother in a very spiritless manner. It was not he whom he wished to see now. Yet he rushed to embrace Lorand with a face beaming triumph. "Well, and what has happened, that you are beaming so?" "The school tribunal has acquitted me: yet I drew everything on myself and did not throw any suspicion on you." "I hope you would be insulted if I praised you for it. Every ordinary man of honor would have done the same. It is just as little a merit not to be a traitor as it is a great ignominy to be one. Am I not right? Pepi,--my friend?" Pepi Gyali decided that Lorand could not have heard of his treachery and would not know it until he was placed in some safe place. He answered naturally enough that no greater disgrace existed on earth than that of treachery. "But why did you summon me in such haste," he enquired, offering his hand confidently to Lorand; the latter allowed him to grasp his hand--on which was a glove. "I merely wished to ask you if you would take my vis-a-vis in the ball to-night following my farewell banquet?" "With the greatest pleasure. You need not even have asked me. Where you are, I must be also." "Go upstairs, Desi, to the governess and ask her whether she intends to come to the ball to-night, or if the lady of the house is going alone." Desiderius listlessly sauntered out of the room. He thought that to-day was scarcely a suitable day to conclude with a ball; still he did go upstairs to the governess. The young lady answered that she was not going for Melanie had a difficult "Cavatina" to learn that evening, but her ladyship was getting ready, and the stout aunt was going with her. As Desiderius shut the door after him, Lorand stood with crossed arms before the dandy, and said: "Do you know what kind of dance it is, in which I have invited you to be my vis-a-vis?" "What kind?" asked Pepi with a playful expression. "A kind of dance at which one of us must die." Therewith he handed him the lilac-coloured letter which Hermine had written to him: "Read that." Gyali read these lines: "Gyali handed over the album-leaf you wrote on. All is betrayed." The dandy smiled, and placed his hands behind him. "Well, and what do you want with me?" he enquired with cool assurance. "What do you think I want?" "Do you want to abuse me? We are alone, no one will hear us. If you wish to be rough with me, I shall shout and collect a crowd in the street: that will also be bad for you." "I intend to do neither. You see I have put gloves on, that I may not befoul myself by touching you. Yet you can imagine that it is not customary to make a present of such a debt." "Do you wish to fight a duel with me?" "Yes, and at once: I shall not allow you out of my sight until you have given me satisfaction." "Don't expect that. Because you are a Hercules, and I a titmouse, don't think I am overawed by your knitted eyebrows. If you so desire, I am ready." "I like that." "But you know that as the challenged, I have the right to choose weapons and method." "Do so." "And you will find it quite natural that I have no intention of being pummelled into a loaf of bread and devoured by you. I recommend the American duel. Let us put our names into a hat and he whose name is drawn is compelled to shoot himself." Lorand was staggered. He recalled that night in the crypt. "One of us must die; you said so yourself," remarked Gyali. "Good, I am not afraid of it. Let us draw lots, and then he whom fate chooses, must die." Lorand gazed moodily before him, as if he were regarding things happening miles away. "I understand your hesitation: there are others whom you would spare. Well, let us fix a definite time for dying. How long can those, of whom you are thinking, live? Let us say ten years. He, whose name is drawn must shoot himself--to-day ten years." "Oh," cried Lorand in a tone of vexation, "this is merely a cowardly subterfuge by which you wish to escape." "Brave lion, you will fall just as soon, if you die, as the mouse. Your whole valor consists in being able to pin, with a round pin, a tiny little fly to the bottom of a box, but if you find an opponent, like yourself, you draw back before him." "I shall not draw back," said Lorand irritated; and there appeared before his soul all those figures, which, pointing their fingers threateningly, rose before him from the depths of the earth. Headless phantoms returned to the seven cold beds; and the eighth was bespoken. "Be it so," sighed Lorand: "let us write our names." Therewith he began to look for paper. But not a morsel was there in his room: all had been burned, clean paper too, that the water mark might not betray him. At last he came across Hermine's note. There was no other alternative. Tearing it in two,--one part he threw to Gyali, on the other he inscribed his own name. Then they folded the pieces of paper and put them into a hat. "Who shall draw?" "You are the challenger." "But you proposed the method." "Wait a moment. Let us entrust the drawing of lots to a third party." "To whom?" "There is your brother, Desi." "Desi?"--Lorand felt a twitching pain at his heart:--"that one's own brother should draw one's death warrant!" "As yet his hand is innocent. Nor shall he know for what he is drawing. I will tell him some tale. And so both of us may be tranquil during the drawing of lots." Just at that moment Desiderius opened the door. He related that the governess was not going, but the stout aunt was to accompany "auntie" to the ball. And the "frauelein" had sent Lorand a written dance-programme, which Desiderius had torn up on the way. He tore it up because he was angry that other people were in so frivolous a mood at a time when he felt so exalted. For that reason he had no intention of handing over the programme. Hearing of the stout aunt, Pepi laughed and then began to feign horror. "Great heavens, Lorand: the seven fat kine of the Old Testament will be there in one: and one of us must dance with this monster. One of us will have to move from its place that mountain, which even Mahomet could not induce to stir, and waltz with it. Please undertake it for my sake." Lorand was annoyed by the ill-timed jest which he did not understand. "Well, to be sure I cannot make the sacrifice: it must be either you or I. I don't mind, let's draw lots for it, and see who must dance this evening with the tower of St. Stephen's." "Very well,"--Lorand now understood what the other wanted. "Desi will draw lots for us." "Of course. Just step outside a moment, Desi, that you may not see on which paper which of our names was written." Desiderius stepped outside. "He must not see that the tickets are already prepared," murmured Lorand:---- "You may come in now." "In this hat are both our names," said Gyali, holding the hat before Desiderius: "draw one of them out: open it, read it, and then put both names into the fire. The one whose name you draw will do the honors to the Cochin-China Emperor's white elephant." The two foes turned round toward the window. Lorand gazed out, while Gyali played with his watch-chain. The child unsuspectingly stepped up to the hat that served as the "urna sortis," and drew out one of the pieces of paper. He opened it and read the name, "Lorand Aronffy." "Put them in the fire," said Gyali. Desiderius threw two pieces of lilac paper into the fire. They were cold May days; outside the face of nature had been distorted, and it was freezing; in Lorand's fire-place a fire was blazing. The two pieces of paper were at once burnt up. Only they were not those on which the two young men had written their names. Desiderius, without being noticed, had changed them for the dance programme, which he had cast into the fire. He kept the two fatal signatures to himself. He had a very good reason for doing so, and a still better reason for saying nothing about it. Lorand said: "Thank you, Desi." He thanked him for drawing that lot. Pepi Gyali took up his hat and said to Lorand in playful jesting: "The white elephant is yours. Good night." And he went away unharmed. "And now, my dear Desi, you must go home," said Lorand, gently grasping his brother's hand. "Why I have only just come." "I have much to do, and it must be done to-day." "Do it: I will sit down in a corner, and not say a word; I came to see you. I will be silent and watch you." Lorand took his brother in his arms and kissed him. "I have to pay a visit somewhere where you could not come with me." Desiderius listlessly felt for his cap. "Yet I did so want to be with you this evening." "To-morrow will do as well." Lorand was afraid that the officers of justice might come any moment for him. For his part he did not mind: but he did not wish his brother to be present. Desiderius sorrowfully returned home. Lorand remained by himself. By himself? Oh no. There around him were the others--seven in number: those headless dead. Well, fate is inevitable. Family misfortune is inherited. One is destroyed by the family disease, another by the hereditary curse. And again the cause is the "sorrowful soil beneath them." From that there is no escape. A terrible inheritance is the self-shed blood, which besprinkles the heads of sons and grandsons! And his inheritance was--the pistol, with which his father had killed himself. It were vain for the whole Heaven to be here on earth. He must leave it, must go, where the others had gone. The eighth niche was still empty, but was already bespoken. For later comers there was room only in the ditch of the graveyard. And there were still ten years left to think thereon! But ten years is a long time. Meanwhile that field might open where an honourable death, grasping a scythe in its two hands, cuts a way through the ranks of armed warriors:--where the children of weeping mothers are trampled to death by the hoofs of horses:--where they throw the first-born's mangled remains into the common burying-pit: perhaps there the son will find what the father sought in vain:--those who fled from before the resting-chamber of that melancholy house, on the facade of which was to be read the inscription, covered by the creepers since days long gone by. "Ne nos inducas in tentationem." _ |
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