by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XVII
TEMPTATION
The most beautiful comet I ever saw was the comet of 1858. It wasvisible in the sky for a whole fortnight, from October 1st to 15th, andall the time the weather was as fine as could be, not a cloud in thesky. And meanwhile the comet drew steadily nearer to the earth, growingbigger and bigger, and in shape it exactly resembled a Turkish scimitar;at last it was quite visible in broad daylight.
I had very good cause for remembering this comet so well. In Septemberof the same year I was seized with haemorrhage of the lungs, an alarmingsymptom in a young man. Our doctor, Sebastian Andrew Kovacs of blessedmemory, said that it was not medicine that I wanted, but change of air.
I submitted to his directions, and at the beginning of the autumn Iundertook an audacious expedition--to visit the Western Carpathian Alpson horseback. Our good old friend Gabriel Torok (he had been aGovernment Commissioner during the Revolution) and his two sons were myguides, for they had been all through those beautiful regions[103]before. Five to six hours in the saddle every day for a fortnight,through pathless forests, up and down steep rocky precipices, wadingthrough streams and mountain torrents, dancing of an evening at theballs frequently given in our honour, in the big-heeled boots that wehad worn on horseback during the day, gobbling bacon as we stopped torest on the fresh grass, and washing it down with a gurgling drink outof our brandy-flasks--that is what I call a radical cure forinflammation of the lungs.
[Footnote 103: Jokai has immortalized these wonderful landscapes in _AzErdelyi arany Kora_, perhaps his best descriptive romance.]
It cured me, anyhow.
With my suite, which gradually swelled into ten strong, I visited Bihar,and found out the rocky grave beneath which reposes my good friend PaulVasvary, who died such a heroic death.[104] I also saw the HungarianCalifornia, the gold-diggings of Abrudbanya and Verespatak. I paintedthat marvellous basalt hill Detonata, than which it is impossible toimagine a more interesting formation. I was in _Csetatye Mare_, thatoverwhelming relic of the Roman power, a gigantic gold-producing hillentirely hollowed out by the slavish hands of a subjugated race. Whenthey would have dug still deeper, the top of the scooped-out mountainfell in and buried beneath it both slaves and slave-holders. And thereit stands now, a gaping chasm, like one of the circular Mountains of theMoon.
[Footnote 104: One of the victims of the Revolution.]
I love to look back on this delightful tour; and the lovely cometaccompanied me in the sky all the time.
The result of my journey was that I returned home with perfectly healthylungs. From the comet, moreover, I borrowed the idea of starting aweekly comic paper under the title of _Ustokos_.[105] And this papergave me something to do for the next fifteen years. During all that timeit had great influence. With a preliminary and a supplementarycensureship to deal with, it was only possible to say a word of truth ora word of encouragement in verse or by way of anecdote. Sometimes aprinter's error served our turn instead. For instance, to the question,"What shall a Hungarian man do now?" the answer was, "_Varjon esturjon_" ("Wait and suffer"); but by a printer's error the "_turjon_"became "_turr jon_," which the reader, in his own mind, would read as"_Turr jon_" ("Let Turr come"), and associate it at once with thepopular ballad sung from one end of the kingdom to the other, and whichbegins, "_Hoz Turr Pizta puskat!_" ("Pizta Turr he brings his musket!")
[Footnote 105: This comic paper still exists, but M. Jokai is no longerits editor.]
But the comet had another signification also.
In those days war was our universal prayer. And the following yearactually brought it.
Napoleon III.'s historical new year's greeting settled the dread destinyof the year.
One day my lieutenant again came to see me; I was still his guardian.His face beamed with joy.
"God be with you, my friend!"
It was a strange beginning.
"I suppose you've got your promotion in your pocket?"
"Not that, but an order to march. Our whole regiment goes to Lombardy,and perhaps even farther. There will be war with Italy, but pray don'tsay anything about it. 'Tis a State secret."
"I knew it long ago."
"From whom?"
"From the Chief of the Police himself. One day he summoned before himall the newspaper editors in Buda-Pest and sternly commanded them not towrite a single letter as _to the preparations_ for the impending war.And thus we heard all about the coming campaign from the very bestauthority."
"Well, they certainly might have acted more discreetly than that."
"Where, then, shall I send you your remittances in the immediatefuture?"
"Nowhere at all, dear friend. Bessy will remain here. Nobody is allowedto take his wife with him, not even the Colonel; whilst from the veryday on which the war begins I shall receive double pay. So give themoney to Bessy."
"I'll _send_ it to her."
"I say _give_ it to her. Take it yourself personally."
"I am much obliged for your confidence."
"It is more than confidence. I wish you, while I am away, to go and seeher: be her guest every day, and make yourself quite at home."
"The deuce! Do you consider me, then, one of those ninnies to whom onecan confide a pretty woman _a l'outrance_?"
"_Au contraire!_ I am convinced of the contrary. I know that in suchmatters no reliance can be placed upon mere honour. The only thing a manexpects from his worthy comrades is discretion. I am well informed ofeverything. My wife has confessed everything to me: the little woodenhut on the Comorn island, and then the visit in your private room, themeeting at the Pagan Altar.... He, he, he! we know all the circumstancesquite well!"
(It was an unheard of case. To think that a pretty woman should becomethe trumpet of her own notoriety!)
"But, my dear comrade, on my word of honour ..."
"Here we have nothing to do with words of honour. You were in love withher once, and I need have no further fear of any one who _used_ to loveBessy. Jupiter was the chief of the gods, and had the loveliest of womenfor his wife, yet _he_ didn't keep the ten commandments. 'Twill bebetter to pour pure wine into our glasses, I think."
"But, I repeat, I don't want to pour any wine at all into my glass."
"Stuff and nonsense! We know all about that. Bessy makes a fool of everyman, and showers contempt on her worshippers. Of you alone does shealways speak with rapture. Whenever your name is mentioned she sighsdeeply, and says, 'Ah, and I might have been his, too!'"
"That proves all the more that our relations have been purely Platonic."
"Very good indeed! What I like about you best of all is the serious facewith which you are always able to defend your point of view. Another manin your place would rejoice at his good fortune; you nobly denyyourself. You will compromise nobody. You have that advantage over allmy other good friends. I would rather entrust her to you than toanybody."
"But why not rather trust her to herself? Foster within her thesentiment of fidelity. Write to her every day from the camp."
"Nay, my friend, a letter won't do. I can't be always scribbling andraving to her. Bessy is not one of the romantic sort. You know all hervarious temperaments."
"Indeed, I know nothing of the sort."
"Well, I do then. I know that the moment I've cast my right foot over myhorse's back she will be unfaithful to me. It is as much her nature tobe so as it is my nature to fight and yours to write. When I can't siton horseback I'm ill, when you can't write a romance you're ill, andwhen a pretty woman is not flirting she gets the _migraine_. Your handupon it that you will visit my Bessy while I am far away and comforther!" And the tears really started to his eyes.
Now, here was a situation which is not to be found in any romance, andwhich the reader will, I know, only accept as true under protest. Asoldier departing for the wars forcibly compels his good friend to tryand comfort the pretty wife he leaves behind him. But that that friendshould kick and struggle with all his might against such a marvellouspiece of good fortune
is a fact which I am sure I shall never get theenlightened public to believe anyhow.
"My friend," said Kvatopil finally, drying the tears from his eyes andviolently pressing one of my hands in one of his, "you know that wevaliant horsemen, dragoons and uhlans, are going down to Italy; thehussars have gone already. The volunteers will take our place here ingarrison-duty. During our absence down there they will be ragingfuriously here. If I thought that mine would be the shame to see myplace here taken by one of those red-braided, chicory hussars, I shouldbe capable of blowing out first my wife's brains and then my own. Don'tallow such a thing to happen. If one of those cockatoos were to see yourastrachan pelisse with the large chalcedon buttons of yours hanging upin my ante-chamber, he would be scared into flight at once."
At this we both laughed heartily.
We took leave of each other very prettily. Kvatopil with the fairesthopes followed the glorious career which promised him fame andpromotion.
The whole kingdom waited for news from the seat of war with raptattention.
Our parting had taken place at the end of April. In May, the officialnewspapers gave us a brief account of the battle of Montebello. It wasnot a regular pitched battle, but a forced reconnaissance by theAustrian general with a jumble of some 12,000 men of all arms. Both theAustrians and the French fought bravely. The official _communique_ didnot give further details.
I, however, through the kind offices of a courier sent from the seat ofwar to the Commandant of Buda, also received a private letter from thefield of battle. Kvatopil wrote thus:--
"MY DEAR FRIEND,--
"I hasten to write to you after the battle. The whole of our regiment was under fire, repulsed the French chasseurs and pursued them into Montebello. _I received a slight wound in the forehead, which did not, however, prevent my further fighting. The Commander-in-chief immediately promoted me to the rank of captain, and praised my valour in front of the regiment. Make known the joyous news to my dear wife. I am not able to write to her. A thousand kisses to the pair of you._
"WENCESLAUS KVATOPIL, Captain."
But there was a postscript also.
"P.S.--Show this letter to nobody, and don't let it out of your hand. Destroy it when you have read it through, for, if it were discovered, it would bring me into the greatest trouble, as it is absolutely forbidden to write letters from the camp. That is why I have addressed it to you instead of to my wife, for I can count upon your discretion. In her triumph she would show the letter everywhere. But you burn it.--W. K."
Now, this letter made it my positive duty to visit Bessy, for I couldonly tell her about it by word of mouth. I might indeed have destroyedKvatopil's letter, then written its entire purport to his wife in aletter of my own, but in that case she would certainly have carried myletter from pillar to post, and the mischief would have been the same.
If I went to her in broad daylight, every one would see me. I could notgo _incognito_, for I was as well known as a bit of bad money. Besidesthat, the Hungarian national costume was in fashion just then. Every onewho wore it might expect to have his name bawled after him in the streetfor a week afterwards at the very least. If, on the other hand, I wereto go to Bessy when it was dark, and they were lighting the gas-lamps,that would only make matters worse.
And again, it would be an inconceivable absurdity not to suppose thatone or other of Bessy's fair neighbours would not be looking out of thewindows of the house opposite, with the most persistent curiosity, tosee who was going in at the gate. And if but one of them saw me, thewhole theatre would know all about it on the morrow.
A husband with a conscience (and there _are_ such husbands) ought insuch cases to stand before his wife with a demure countenance, and sayto her honestly and openly: "My dear angel, I am obliged to pay adisagreeable visit to this or that lady, and I don't half like it; Iwish you would come too." Whereupon the wife will naturally be quitemagnanimous and say: "Go along by yourself, my dear; you know that I amnot a bit jealous."
But my wife happened, just then, to be away acting at Szeged, and wouldnot be back for a week. That would be an aggravating circumstance in thecase of a visit.
While I was thus debating with myself, a smart little maid-servant cameto my door. She had a covered market-basket on her arm, and she drew outof it a neatly-folded little _billet-doux_, which she placed in my hand.The note smelt of celery, under which it had been put. I recognised thehandwriting of the address, it was Bessy's. I opened and read it. Themaid stood there and waited. At last she grew impatient of the longdelay, and said: "I am waiting for an answer."
"Oh, so you're still there? Stop a bit!"
I read the letter once more.
"MY DEAR GUARDIAN,
"Very serious business makes me send to you. Come and see me. As your honoured wife is now engaged on a provincial tour, can't you come and dine with me to-day? We shall be all by ourselves.
"BESSY."
Was there ever an odder reason?--"_As your honoured wife is now engagedon a provincial tour_"! No doubt she found that out in the _FovarosiLapok_.[106] But the conclusion: "_therefore_ you can come and dine withme to-day"! And finally: "We shall be all by ourselves"! If that wasn'ta temptation, I don't know what is.
[Footnote 106: _News of the Capital_, a popular newspaper of theperiod.]
I began to walk up and down.
The maid waited to see if I was going to count how many paces it wasfrom the window to the door. At last she grew importunate.
"Is there any answer, please? I have to go home and cook the dinner."
"Ah, yes, of course! Greet your mistress from me, and tell her that I'llcome and see her in the forenoon to-morrow."
"But I want to know whether you are coming to dinner, that I may arrangemy cooking accordingly."
"True! Then say I'll come to dinner."
In Bessy's house the custom seemed to prevail for the mistress to dinesix days of the week with Duke Humphrey, and then on the seventh, herat-home day, to make a great parade before her guests.
I was now running into the very centre of danger.
I could not possibly back out of this engagement.
"A serious business, eh?" I know it was serious enough to me.
An ideal of my youth, and lovelier now than ever, with a husband of herown too, and that husband a fine manly fellow. So far from beingjealous, he had openly entrusted me with the consolation of hissorrowing spouse. And I am the last person in the world to be enrolledin the Order of Anchorites.
I candidly admit that I am not a bit better than my neighbours.
So I tricked myself out finely. I put on my new coffee-coloured clotheswith the antique buttons; I neatly tied my embroidered cravat; I drew onmy Kordofan-leather boots with the silver spurs; I fastened a crane'splume in my new spiral hat.
This was the audacious fashion of the year, and within a twelvemonththis costume was worn in the whole kingdom. And after that, I went tothe barber's and he twisted my thick blonde hair into masterly ringlets.Aggravating circumstances, the whole lot of them!