by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XXIV.
ZEBULON'S BRIGHT IDEA.
Three thousand six hundred feet above the sea-level, on a height ofthe Carpathian mountain range, a convivial party, consisting mostly ofarmy officers, was enjoying itself with wine and music. A splendidview lay spread out before the merrymakers,--a wide-reaching landscapelighted by the slanting beams of the western sun as it sank in goldenradiance beneath the horizon.
"Look there," RideghvAiry was saying, as he named, one after another,the cities and villages that lay before them; "yonder lies the way toConstantinople."
His words were greeted with a shout: "Hurrah! Long live the Czar!"Glasses clinked, and the company struck up the Russian nationalanthem. RideghvAiry joined in, and all uncovered during the singing.
"Don't you sing with us, Zebulon?" asked RideghvAiry, turning to hisfriend, who sat silent and melancholy.
"No more voice than a peacock," was Zebulon's curt reply.
The crags about them gave back the tuneful notes, while far below thelong line of Russian cavalry regiments, on their march from the north,caught up the song.
"See there!" cried RideghvAiry to Zebulon, pointing to the troops asthey wound their way southward toward the heart of Hungary; "now comesour triumph; now we shall tread our foes under our feet. No power onearth can withstand our might." His face beamed with exultation as hespoke.
Zebulon TallA(C)rossy was out of humour. His present part had pleased himso long as he had nothing to do but travel about with his patron, makethe acquaintance of foreign celebrities, and receive honours andattentions wherever he went. That, he thought, was the fittingoccupation of a great statesman, and he had looked to this same kindof statesmanship to bring everything to a quiet and orderlyconclusion. But when he saw that matters were not destined to flow onso harmoniously much longer, he fell out of conceit with his rA'le ofstatesman.
Returning with RideghvAiry to the town that lay beneath them in thevalley, he gave his friend and patron a hint of his dissatisfaction."Yes," said he, "she is a mighty power,--Russia; I don't know whocould withstand her. But what will be the fate of the conquered?"
"_VA| victis_--woe to the vanquished!" returned the othersententiously.
"Well then," continued honest Zebulon, "let us suppose a case: whatabout such a man as A-dA?n Baradlay, whom we and all his countrymenesteem and love, and who, if his zeal has led him a little too far,has yet been influenced by none but the loftiest motives,--what willbe done to him? A good man, fine talents, sure to be a credit to hiscountry--he ought to be spared."
"_Mitgefangen, mitgehangen_,"[6] quoted RideghvAiry briefly.
[Footnote 6: Caught with the rest, hung with the rest.]
For the rest of the drive Zebulon was silent.
In the evening, as RideghvAiry was looking over the passport blankswhich he kept in one of the pigeonholes of his desk, he missed thevery one to which he attached the greatest value. It was an Englishpassport with the official signature and stamp of the ambassadors ofall the intervening countries, the name and description of the bearerbeing alone left blank. Such forms were commonly held in readiness forsecret missions. No one could have taken the missing paper exceptZebulon; and when he had reached this conclusion, RideghvAiry smiled.
In his comings and goings, the great man always took his friend withhim. But how explain the friendship which he manifested for him?Easily enough. RideghvAiry was not a master of the common people'slanguage, and it was the common people that he wished to reach.Zebulon was their oracle, their favourite orator. One needed but togive him a theme, and he could hold his simple auditors spellbound bythe hour. In his expeditions, therefore, RideghvAiry knew that hishonest friend would be indispensable to him when it came to persuadingthe good people that the invading hosts which passed through theirvillages were not enemies, but friends, allies, and brothers. That,then, was to be Zebulon's mission, and he already suspected as much;but he had no heart for the task before him. RideghvAiry, in hisconcern lest he should lose his spokesman, hardly let him go out ofhis sight, and even shared the same room with him at night; otherwisehe might have found himself some morning without his mouthpiece.
Zebulon racked his brains for a plan of escape from his illustriouspatron, but all in vain. The patron was too fond of him. He had eventried to pick a quarrel with RideghvAiry; but the other would not somuch as lose his temper. Since their last talk, however, Zebulon wasmore than ever determined to shake off his affectionate friend.
"If you won't let me run away from you," said he to himself, "I willmake you run away from me."
He had been pondering a scheme of his own ever since he chanced to seea Cossack eating raw cucumbers on an empty stomach. The Cossackplucked the cucumbers in a garden, and munched them with the greatestapparent relish. The plan was further developed as he watched thepreparation of a dainty dish for the epicures of the Russian camp.Turnips and beets were cut up together, mixed with bran, and thenboiled in an immense kettle, the finishing touch being added bydipping a pound of tallow candles into the steaming mixture. Thecandles came out thinner, to be sure, but were still serviceable forillumination, while the stew was rendered perfect.
Zebulon's scheme attained to full development when the cholera brokeout so fiercely in the Russian army that even a disastrous battlecould hardly have wrought greater havoc. RideghvAiry was mortallyafraid of the cholera, carried in his bosom a little bag of camphor,wore flannel over his abdomen, shook flowers of sulphur into hisboots, always disinfected his room with chloride of lime, drank redwine in the evening and arrack in the morning, and chewed juniperberries during the day.
On this weakness of the illustrious man Zebulon counted largely forthe success of his scheme. Entering a druggist's shop one evening, heasked for an ounce of tartar emetic. The apothecary was disinclinedto furnish the drug without a physician's order, but Zebulon cut hisobjection short.
"Doctor's prescription not necessary," said he sharply. "I prescribefor myself--exceptional case. If I say I must have it, that's enough."And he received his _tartarus emeticus_, divided into small doses.
In the night, while RideghvAiry was asleep, Zebulon took two doses ofhis emetic. Honour to whom honour is due! Every man has his ownpeculiar kind of heroism. In Zebulon it was an heroic deed to bring onhimself an artificial attack of cholera at a critical time like that.But his scheme worked admirably. The audible results of the doubledose of tartar emetic awakened RideghvAiry from his slumbers. With oneleap from his bed, he landed in the middle of the room, and ran intothe passageway, shouting: "The cholera is here! the cholera is here!"He left his clothes lying in the room, and procured fresh ones to puton. Whatever luggage and papers of his were in the bedchamber, heordered to be fumigated before he would touch them. Then, calling forhis carriage, he drove out of the town in all haste.
Meanwhile, Zebulon, after the drug had done its work, went to sleepagain and snored till broad daylight. With this _salto mortale_ hedisappeared from public life.