by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XIV.
TRUE LOVE.
Through the unlighted streets of Vienna a carriage was slowly makingits uncertain way by night. The gas-mains had been wrecked,--that wasone of the results of the glorious days of "liberty,"--and only thefeeble coach-lamps lighted a path for the equipage.
The carriage halted before the Plankenhorst house, and the coachmanstepped down and held the door open while two women alighted, afterwhich he drove into the courtyard, leaving his passengers to make thebest of their way up the unlighted stairs. The hostess, coming to meetthem with a lamp in her hand, kissed one of her callers, who wasevidently a nun, and gave her hand to the other. The latter's hoodfalling back revealed Edith's bright face.
"Heaven must have guided you hither, Sister Remigia!" exclaimed thebaroness, in a guarded tone.
"We had need enough of Heaven's guidance in this fearful darkness,"was the reply. "Not a street lamp is lighted in the whole city, andthe pavement is torn up in many places."
"Heaven watches over its chosen ones," said Antoinette, leading herguests into the dining-room, where the table was spread in readinessfor them, while the water was already boiling in the tea-kettle.
First assuring herself that no one was in the next room, the hostesslocked the door, bade her daughter serve the tea, and then drew herchair to Sister Remigia's side. "What word does the general send?" sheasked.
"To-morrow is fixed upon for a general attack," replied the sister, inan anxious tone.
"Did you know that things were going badly?" asked Antoinette.
"How so?"
"The insurgents are counting on a secret understanding with a part ofthe investing forces. Goldner told me the whole plan. Of course Ipretended to be very much alarmed as to what would become of us whohave played so important a part in the uprising, if the city should betaken. But the good young man bade me have no fear: in case of anymishap, a plan of escape was arranged for those whose lives would beendangered by remaining. He said that between the Mariahilf andLerchenfeld cemeteries the line of investment was held by a squadronof hussars with whom the Aula had for some time been fraternising,and that it was hoped this squadron would not only offer a free escapeto fugitives in case of danger, but would also join in their flightand cover their rear, thus securing them a safe retreat into Galiciaor Hungary. The only thing in the way of this plan, it appears, is theobstinacy of the squadron's commander, Captain Richard Baradlay."
"The same who drove the rioters away from the convent?"
"Yes."
"So far as I have learned," said Sister Remigia, "he has not sincethen associated with the members of the Aula and the popular leaders."
"No," rejoined the baroness, "he has held himself aloof from them andrefused to be drawn into their scheme. His men would have yielded, butthey stand by their commander: if he bade them fight against their ownkith and kin, they would obey him. Lately, however, the rebels havegained a new and unhoped-for ally."
"In whom?"
"In a woman, and a very dangerous one, too. She does not shrink fromthe boldest and most perilous undertakings. She is the youngBaradlays' mother."
"But how, pray, could she have made her way through the investinglines?" asked the sister, in astonishment.
"By a daring stroke that seems hardly credible. Fritz told me allabout it. This delicate widow of the late Baron Baradlay procured froman old market-woman in Schwechat, the costume and basket of avegetable-vender, and then proceeded with this woman, on foot, herbasket of onions and potatoes on her back, through the lines of theinvesting army, selling her wares on the way, until she reached thecity. She is now here in Vienna, at number 17 Singer Street, in theshop of her attendant market-woman."
"And what is her object in all this?"
"To take her sons home with her. She wishes to persuade them to returnto Hungary and enter the government service there."
"Has she spoken with them yet?" asked the nun.
"Not yet, fortunately. She only arrived this afternoon. Goldner hasspoken with her, and she is to have an interview with her son Richard,the cavalry officer, to-morrow morning. She is allowed to go to himunmolested, and as surely as she speaks with him, he will yield toher. The general will then be informed of the affair through hissecret agents, and before the hussars can carry out their plan, thewhole squadron is to be surrounded. Who is the commanding officer inyour section now?"
"The cuirassier major, Otto Palvicz."
"Ah, he is the right man for the business. The hussars will bedecimated, and Captain Baradlay shot."
To all this Edith was forced to listen, but she suffered no look ofhers to betray how keenly it affected her. On hearing her lover'sprobable fate, she nearly choked over a piece of ham, and had toresort to a dose of vinegar to conquer a sudden faintness.
Alfonsine could not refrain from venting her spite on her cousin."Your appetite," said she, "does not seem to suffer greatly at theprospect of losing your lover."
Edith helped herself composedly to another slice of ham. "Better to beexecuted than buried alive," she rejoined. Holding out her glass, shebegged her cousin to pour her some chartreuse. "I must get used to itif I am to be a nun," she remarked playfully.
Alfonsine handed her the bottle and bade her help herself, and Edith'shand never once trembled as she filled her cognac glass to the brimwith the green liquor; then she poured out a glassful for SisterRemigia.
"Drink with me, Sister Remigia," she cried, with a roguish smile; "wemust take something to keep up our spirits."
The nun made a show of reluctance, but was finally obliged to yield tothe seductions of her favourite beverage. Meanwhile the hostessproceeded with her instructions.
"Don't forget the address," said she,--"number 17 Singer Street, thevegetable shop in the basement. The mother will be sure to return forher youngest son, and we must not let her escape us. Give the generalfull information of these details in the morning, but take care thatCaptain Baradlay doesn't get wind of the affair. That man must die,and we must leave him no loophole for slipping out of our hands."
An incomprehensible child, that Edith! Even now she asks nonchalantlyfor a piece of _fromage de Brie_, sips her chartreuse like an epicure,and refills her companion's glass as often as it is emptied. Awell-spread table in this world, her soul's salvation in the next, andmeanwhile the quiet life of a cloister, seemed to satisfy her everydesire. Soon she was nodding as if overcome with sleepiness, andfinally she leaned back on the sofa, and her eyes seemed to be closed;but through her long lashes she was watching intently the three womenbefore her. They thought her asleep.
"Is she always like this?" asked the Baroness Plankenhorst.
"She is incorrigibly lazy," replied Sister Remigia. "No work, no booksseem to interest her. Eating and sleeping are her sole delight."
"Well, we must make the best of the matter," returned Antoinette. "Ihope she will enjoy her convent life. An allowance will be made forher support as long as she lives; that has been provided for."
"Are you, then, sure that she has lost her lover?"
"Quite. If he once has an interview with his mother, he will bepersuaded to desert. Her eldest son she has already drawn into thenet: he is now a recruiting officer in the Hungarian service, and isbusy raising troops. But if Richard fails to meet his mother, andstill refuses to join the insurgents, a ball will be sent through hishead at the critical moment--so Fritz assures me. Two of his own menhave vowed to shoot him if he opposes their wishes. So he has but ashort shrift in any case. By to-morrow evening he will be either adead man, assassinated by one of his troopers, or, if he attempts todesert, a prisoner in the hands of Major Palvicz; and, in the lattercase, he will be shot day after to-morrow. It is all one to me how itturns out. I don't wish him the ignominy of a public execution,although he has given me reason enough to hate him."
When Sister Remigia at length aroused Edith and led her, apparentlyhalf asleep, down to the carriage, Antoinette accompanied them with alight, explaining as she went that
all the men-servants had beencalled away to the barricades. Her real purpose was to see Edithsafely seated in the coach, and sound asleep by the nun's side. Shehad only the vaguest suspicions regarding her niece, but it was bestto take no chances.
The heavy coach rumbled slowly through the dark streets. Perhaps thedriver himself was half asleep. When they were well on their way,Edith opened her eyes and peered cautiously about. Her sole thoughtwas to make her escape, even if a thousand devils stood guard at thecarriage door, and the ghosts of all who had fallen in the last fewdays haunted the unlighted streets of the city. Sister Remigia wasalready fast asleep; it was her eyes, not Edith's, that refused tohold themselves open after the evening's ample repast. The chartreusehad done its work.
Assuring herself of her companion's condition, Edith softly opened thedoor at her side and sprang lightly to the ground, unperceived by thedeaf and sleepy coachman. Swiftly, and with wildly beating heart, sheran back toward the heart of the city, leaving the coach to lumber onits way without her. It was only with difficulty that she could findher way in the dark. The tall tower of St. Stephen's loomed up aheadof her, and thither she turned her steps, hoping to find some one inthat neighbourhood to direct her farther. With limbs trembling, andheart anxiously throbbing, now that she was safe from observation, thepoor girl hastened on as best she could. Twice as she ran she heardthe great tower-clock strike the quarter-hour, and she knew she musthave gone astray; for half an hour suffices to go from one end of theinner city to the other. Coming to a street corner, she paused andlooked about for the tower, and at last made it out on her right. Thenshe knew where she was, and concluded that Singer Street must besomewhere in the vicinity. As she stood there in uncertainty, thegreat clock struck again--midnight this time--and, as it struck, afiery rocket shot upward from the turret's summit,--a signal seen andunderstood by some one in the distance.
By the bright but momentary glare of this rocket, Edith's eyes soughtin all haste the name of the street in which she stood. With a thrillof joy, she read on the wall over her head the word "Singerstrasse."Now she had the Ariadne clue in her hand, and, before the rocket burstand its light suddenly went out, leaving her in apparently deeperdarkness than before, she had learned that the house next to her wasnumber 1, and that consequently all the numbers on that side of thestreet were odd. By simply counting the doors she could soon findnumber 17.
Feeling her way with her hands like a blind person, lest she shouldomit a door in her course, Edith moved slowly from house to house,counting the numbers as she went.
"Thirteen, fifteen," she whispered; "now the next will be seventeen.Who is there?" she cried suddenly, starting back in alarm as her handsencountered a human form.
"The blessed Virgin and St. Anne!" exclaimed the unknown, equallyfrightened. It proved to be an old woman who was crouching in thedoorway, and over whom Edith had unwittingly stumbled.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" panted the girl, recovering from her fright."You see I was so startled at finding any one here."
"And I was startled, too," rejoined the other. "What do you wish here,miss?"
"I am looking for number 17."
"And what is your errand at number 17?"
"I wish to speak with a woman, a vegetable-vender who arrived herethis evening with another market-woman."
"This is the house," said the old woman, "and I have the key in mypocket. Follow me."
She opened the narrow basement door and admitted the girl, followingher and locking the door behind them. At the end of the corridor alamp was flickering on the floor in the draught. The old woman raisedthe lamp and examined her guest by its light. At sight of the conventdress she started back with an exclamation of surprise. In the younggirl's form and face, as she stood there under the feeble rays of thelamp, was something that suggested to her the saints and martyrs ofold.
Edith was conducted to a low basement room, in whose corners she sawpiles of potatoes and beets, with strings of onions hanging on thewalls. In the middle of the room stood two straw chairs, on one ofwhich was a tallow candle stuck into a hollow potato, while the otherwas occupied by a woman dressed in the costume of a Viennavegetable-vender. She looked up and calmly surveyed the newcomer. Herface was not one to betray surprise at any unexpected occurrence;indeed, its expression indicated an unusual degree of self-mastery.But the girl practised no such self-control. Hastening forward andsinking on her knees before the stranger, she seized her hand andlooked into her face with wide-open eyes.
"Baroness Baradlay," she exclaimed breathlessly, "they are plotting tomurder your son!"
The other started slightly, but stifled the cry that rose to her lips."Richard?" she stammered, forgetting her caution for an instant.
"Yes, yes," cried the other; "Richard, your Richard! Oh, dear madam,save him, save him!"
The baroness looked into Edith's face with searching scrutiny. "Youare Edith?" she asked.
The girl started in surprise. "Have you heard my name already?" sheasked.
"I know you from my son's letters," was the reply. "In your face andyour words I read that you can be none other than Richard's betrothed.But how did you learn all this,--that I was here, who I was, and thatRichard was in danger?"
"I will tell you all," answered Edith, and she gave a hurried accountof what she had overheard at her aunt's that evening. "But they weremistaken in me," she concluded. "They thought my spirit was broken andthat they could do what they wished with me. But I ran away from them;I ran all the way here in the dark, and though I never saw you before,I knew you at once. God protected and guided me, and he will lead mestill farther."
The speaker's passionate words betrayed so much nobility of soul thatthe baroness, quite carried away with admiration, put her arm aroundEdith's neck and let her eyes rest tenderly on the face of the girlwho showed such true love for her Richard.
"Calm yourself, my child," said she, "and let us take counseltogether. You see I am perfectly composed. This plot is to be carriedout to-morrow morning, you say?"
"Yes, I am sure of it."
"Then half the night is still left for defeating it."
The girl clasped her hands with a beseeching gesture. "Oh, take mewith you!" she begged.
The other considered a moment. "Very well," she replied, "you maycome, too."
Edith clapped her hands with delight, while the baroness opened thedoor and called the market-woman.
"Frau Babi," said she, "we must set out at once, and this young ladywill accompany us."
"Then she must wear another dress," interposed the old woman.
"And have you one for her?" asked the baroness.
"Oh, plenty of them." And with that Frau Babi raised the cover of anold chest and rummaged about for garments suitable for a young peasantgirl's wear. She seemed to have an ample stock of old clothes.
"A charming little market-wench!" exclaimed the old woman, when shehad wrought the desired metamorphosis. "And now for a basket to carryon her back. You never carried anything like that before, I'llwarrant. But don't fear; I'll find you a light one and fill it withdry rolls that won't weigh anything. We two will manage the potatoesand onions."
Edith regarded it all as an excellent joke and hung her basket on herback in great good humour.
The clocks were striking two as the three women at length reached theKaiserstrasse. At the barricade there was no guard visible. Theinvesting forces here consisted only of a small detachment of cavalrywhose main body was encamped at Schwechat; and cavalry is never usedfor storming barricades. Nevertheless, there were sharpshootersposted in the neighbouring houses to guard against a possible assault.Thus the women were able to pass unchallenged.
It was a more difficult task, however, to get through the investinglines. But those who remember the Vienna of those days will recall theunfilled hollow between Hernals and what was then known as theSchmelz, designed to receive the water that flowed from the mountainsafter heavy rains. Hewn stones and wooden planks lined the sides ofthis depression. It
was not a pleasant spot to visit, but it offered agood hiding-place to any one seeking concealment.
Frau Babi led the way down into this hollow, which was then, luckily,free from water. Climbing out on the farther side, she lookedcautiously around and then bade the others follow her, first drawingup their baskets for them.
"Leave them here," said she. "The hussars are over yonder."
At a distance of two hundred paces could be seen a couple of menstanding by a watch-fire, while beyond them, within the cemetery, fiveor six more fires were burning in a group, indicating the encampmentof the squadron.
"I was right," added the old woman. "You two go on now; you won't needme any longer."
Taking Edith by the hand, Baroness Baradlay advanced toward the firstwatch-fire. The sentinels saw their approach, but did not challengethem until they were very near.
"Halt! Who goes there?" cried one of the horsemen.
"Friends," was the answer.
"Give the countersign."
"Saddle horses and right about!"
At this the hussar sprang from his saddle, approached the baroness,and kissed her hand respectfully. "We have been looking for you,madam," said he.
"Do you know who I am, Paul?"
"Yes, madam, and thank heaven you are here safely."
"Where is my son?"
"I will take you to him at once. And that pretty little creature?" heasked, in a low tone, pointing to Edith.
"She comes with me."
"I understand."
The old hussar left his horse in his comrade's care and led the twowomen toward a small whitewashed house which stood within thecemetery, and had formerly been used as the grave-digger's dwelling,but now served as Richard's quarters. He occupied a little room thatlooked out upon the city, and this room he had that moment enteredafter a late night ride.
"There they are again!" he cried, bringing his fist down heavily onthe table, upon which the latest newspapers from Pest were spread out,showing a number of articles marked with red. "Into the fire withthem!"
But, angry as he seemed to be at finding the papers thrust upon hisnotice, Captain Baradlay could not persuade himself to burn themunread; and having once begun to read, he could not stop. Resting hiselbows on the table and his head in his hands, he read over and overagain the marked passages, his brow darkening as he proceeded.
"It is not true, it cannot be true!" he exclaimed, struggling with hisfeelings. "It is all false, it is utterly preposterous!"
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he crumpled the papers up inhis hand. Old Paul entered, and Richard turned upon him in a passion.
"What thieving rascal has been stealing into my room and leaving theseinfamous newspapers on my table?"
Paul made answer with his accustomed phlegm: "If you told me a thiefhad carried off something, I could understand it; but that a thiefshould bring you something is stranger than anything I ever heardof."
"A bundle of newspapers is smuggled through my locked door every day,and laid on my table. Who does it?"
"What do I know of newspapers? I can't read."
"You are trying to fool me, Paul," rejoined his master. "Don't yousuppose I know that you have been learning to read these last threemonths? Who is your teacher?"
"Never mind about him. He was a trumpeter, a student expelled from hisuniversity, and he died yesterday. He had been at death's door for along time. I begged him not to take all his learning with him to thenext world, but to leave me some of it."
"And why did you want to learn to read?"
Straightening himself up, the old soldier answered firmly: "Captain, Icould easily give you a false reply to that question. If I wished todeceive you, I could say I had learned to read because I wanted to bepromoted. But I will tell you the truth: I have learned to read in myold age in order to know what is going on at home."
"So you too read this stuff? How does it get in here?"
"Never mind that now. I have to report that two ladies wish to speakwith Captain Baradlay."
The astonished officer thought he must be dreaming when his oldservant opened the door and he found himself face to face with hisdear and honoured mother, while, peering out from behind her back, wasseen the sweet young face of the girl he loved more than life itself.Both forms were clad in coarse peasant garments, bedraggled with rainand mud. What Richard had just been reading with so much incredulityin the newspapers from Pest, he now saw to be true. Women of noblebirth were forced to flee from their homes in disguise because of theoutrages committed by bloodthirsty hordes of marauders; husbands andbrothers were slain before their eyes, and their houses were set onfire. The picture of all this passed before him in fancy, as he foundhimself in the presence of his mother and his betrothed.
He embraced and kissed the former in a passion of tenderness, buttoward the latter he bore himself with shyness and reserve, hardlyable to believe it was actually his Edith.
"So it is all true that the papers tell us?" he asked his mother,pointing to the newspapers on his table.
The baroness glanced at the marked items. "That is but a thousandthpart of the truth," she replied.
"I must believe it now," he rejoined, "from the mere fact that you arehere before me as a living proof." He struck the table an emphaticblow. "Henceforth no general shall order my movements! You only shallcommand me, mother. What would you have me do?"
The baroness drew Edith to her side, and then turned to her son. "Thisgirl has told me what to ask of you. Only an hour ago I myself was ata loss how to proceed."
"Edith!" whispered the young man, caressing the little hand extendedtoward him. "But how has it all come about?"
"This convent pupil," replied the mother with a tender look at Edith,"overheard a plot that was forming for your destruction. Whatevercourse you choose, you are a dead man if you tarry here longer. Arrestfor desertion on the one hand, and assassination on the other,threaten you. And this dear girl, without a moment's loss of time,without stopping to weep and wring her hands in despair, escaped fromher guardians and sought me out in the dead of night, to beg me makeall haste and save you while there was yet time."
"Edith!" stammered the young man once more, overcome by his feelings.
"These are times," continued the baroness, "when mothers are callingtheir sons home; but you have refused to listen to that call."
"I will listen now, mother; only tell me what to do."
"Learn of your own soldiers. The watchword by which we entered yourcamp is, 'Saddle horses and right about!' It points your course toyou."
"So be it, then," said Richard, and he stepped to the door and issuedan order to old Paul.
"The die is cast," said he to his mother as he returned to her side."But what will become of you?"
"The Father above will watch over us," she returned calmly.
"But you cannot go back into the city," objected Richard; "it will bestormed to-morrow on all sides, and you would be in great danger. Imust be off while we still have darkness and rain to cover our flight;and you had best come with me to the next village, where you can get aconveyance and escape into Hungary. Take Edith with you, too, mother."
The women, however, both shook their heads. "I am going back into thecity, my son," declared the baroness.
"But the town will surely be taken to-morrow and you will be indanger," protested Richard.
"Nevertheless I am mindful but of one thing: I have another son there,and I am going back for him, no matter how great the peril. I mustbring him away at all hazards."
Richard buried his face in his hands. "Oh, mother," he cried, "howsmall I seem to myself before your greatness of courage and loftinessof purpose!" He threw a look at Edith, as if to ask: "What willbecome of you, delicate lily uptorn by the blast? Whither will you go,where find shelter?"
Edith understood the questioning look and hastened to reply. "Don't beanxious about me. Your mother will accompany me to the convent.Punishment awaits me there, but it won't kill me; and I shall be wellta
ken care of until you come back for me."
The sound of horses' hoofs fell on their ears.
"Time is flying, my son!" exclaimed the baroness. "You must not lingeranother moment."
A slow rain was falling. The hussars were drawn up in order, and theircaptain had nothing to do but mount his horse and place himself attheir head.
"Saddle horses and right about!" sounded the subdued watchword; andthe squadron wheeled around. The trumpeter was dead, but the valiantband needed no bugle blast to spur it forward. In a moment it hadvanished in the mist and darkness.
The two women were escorted by old Paul back to the watch-fire, wherethe market-woman awaited them. Paul himself was to remain behind withone other sentinel to deceive the patrol and allay suspicions. Thenthe two were to hasten after their comrades.
* * * * *
Dawn was breaking when Edith reA"ntered the convent. A cry of horrorwas raised in the refectory over her appearance at such an hour. Inthe whole nunnery not an eye had been closed that night, so great wasthe alarm caused by Sister Remigia's return unaccompanied by hercompanion. The door of the coach had been found open, Edith was notinside, and the sister, awaking from her slumbers, could not accountfor her disappearance. And what made matters worse, no one dared takeany action that should publish the scandalous occurrence abroad.
Edith found herself besieged with questions on all sides: where in theworld had she been, and what had she been doing all night?
"I will give my answer this evening--not before," she declared; and asher unheard-of contumacy yielded to no threats or scolding,chastisement was resorted to.
The pious sisters were horrified when they began to undress theirobstinate charge and found her clothes all wet and stained with mud.Who could tell where she had been roaming about in the night? But shewould answer not a word to their questions.
The rod and the scourge were applied with no sparing hand, but neitherthe one nor the other could make her confess. The brave girl onlyclosed her teeth the more tightly when the shameful blows struck hertender body, and after each stroke she whispered to herself: "DearRichard!"--repeating the words until at last she fainted under thetorture. When she recovered consciousness she found herself in bed,her body half covered with plasters. She was in a high fever, but wasable to note the approach of nightfall. She had slept nearly all day.
"Now I will tell where I have been," said she to those around her bed."I went to the camp of the hussars and passed the night in the room ofmy lover, their captain. Now you may publish it abroad if you choose."
At this fearful revelation the prioress threw up her hands inconsternation. Naturally she took every precaution to keep the mattersecret; for had it been allowed to leak out, the good name of thatnunnery would have been ruined.