Eyes Like the Sea: A Novel

by Mór Jókai

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A COLD DOUCHE

  How my heart beat when I set forth on my expedition!

  On the way from my dwelling to Bessy's lodgings my ill fate brought meface to face with all the veteran actresses of the National Theatre, andthey all stopped me and asked where I was going. They all remarked thatI was very stylishly got up, and they all shook their fingers at me, andsaid: "Fie, fie! you straw-widower!"

  The devil must really have been in me to make me take the trouble tohave my hair so prettily frizzled.

  I was just about to dash hastily up the staircase of Bessy's dwelling,when whom should I run into but Toni Sagi. It only needed that. He camefrom the same town as I did, was a common friend of all my friends, andwas about as reticent of news as a town-crier.

  "Your servant, friend! Why, you're quite a stranger. I've just come fromBessy. The young lady is in a very bad humour. She as good as pitched meout of doors. She must be expecting some one. Perhaps you are the veryman, eh?"

  It was all up with me now! To-morrow every newspaper in the town willreport my visit here. For "quod licet _bovi_, non licet _Jovi_."

  If I were to turn back now, it would only make matters worse.

  I hastened up the steps. Bessy lived on the third floor.... To get toher rooms I had to follow the open corridor which led down to thecourtyard. I passed on my way the lodgings of a milliner, a femalepawnbroker, and a lady who supplied families with servant-maids, and allthree poked their heads out of their windows and watched me disappear.

  On reaching Bessy's number, I found, tugging at the bell-rope, ared-peluched young coxcomb. The door was about a fourth part open, andthe face of the vicious looking cook was protruding out of it. Shedismissed the visitor with curt ceremony.

  "My mistress is not at home!"

  We nearly trod each other's spurs off as we cannoned against each otherin the narrow corridor.

  A minute afterwards the countenance of the self-same cook, rounded intocomplete amiability, again appeared, and she said to me:

  "Would you do us the honour to walk in?"

  And she held the door wide open for me.

  You should have seen the face which my red furbelowed gentleman made atthis. It was not enough for him to open his eyes and mouth at me; hestuck his _pince-nez_ on the bridge of his nose as well.

  That will mean a duel for me to-morrow.

  Meantime, however, I was master of the situation.

  I had to go through the kitchen to get to Bessy's room. The kitchen wasalso the ante-chamber; you hung up your overcoat there. Her cook was heronly servant, parlour-maid, chamber-maid, everything.

  "Would you kindly walk into the saloon?" urged the servant.

  "But announce me beforehand. Here's my card."

  "Beg pardon, but I can't take it; both my hands are doughy." (She was inthe middle of kneading some dough cake or other with butter.) "Would youkindly put your card between my teeth?"

  Thus, like a retriever, she carried in my card between her teeth. Amoment afterwards she cried:

  "Come in now, please!"

  I entered the room which the servant had called a saloon.

  Nobody was there. I looked around me. I found nothing there of theluxurious splendour which had surrounded the young lady formerly in hermother's house; but for all that everything was neat and pretty.Embroideries, a music-stand with songs upon it, and a fiddle,flower-pots, a cage with exotic birds, Wallachian _Katrinczas_,[107]Szekler pottery, a few handsomely bound books--all these were sodisposed as to fill the mind with a sense of refined elegance combinedwith the utmost simplicity.

  [Footnote 107: Aprons.]

  A curtained door led from the saloon into another room--possibly abed-chamber.

  In a few minutes this door opened and the fair lady fluttered in.

  It did not escape my attention that the moment she entered she turnedher head on one side, and contracted her eyebrows as if to bid some oneelse remaining behind there to keep quiet. The momentary opening of thedoor also permitted me to see that in the direction in which she hadlooked was a tall tester bed with the curtains drawn close.

  The moment, however, that she had shut the door behind her and turnedtowards me, the face of the lovely lady became all amiability. Shehastened up to me and pressed my hand.

  "It was very nice of you to come and see me. Don't be angry with me forgiving you the trouble."

  The lady was now more amiable than ever.

  She was in the simplest stay-at-home toilet. The only ornament on herhead was her own bright silky hair, twisted up into a knot and tied atthe top with a ribbon.

  She looked just as she was ten years before, a little girl of sixteen.

  Her whole being recalled to me her childish days. There was the samecandid, guileless look; those open eyes through which you could readinto her very soul; the same artless mouth.

  She invited me to sit down. She took my hat and laid it on the table.

  "I suppose you'll remain to dinner? I have told the cook to prepare yourfavourite dish."

  "Then you know what it is?"

  "Why, of course! _Beans with pig's ear._ Why, all your admirersthroughout the kingdom know that."

  I had now good reason to be proud! My nation, then, has some regard forme, after all. To others it presents _bays_, to me--_beans_.[108]

  [Footnote 108: In Hungarian the resemblance is closer still, _babo_meaning bean, and _baber_, laurel.]

  "In that case I'll remain," I said.

  "In Kvatopil's time I was never permitted to cook beans, for hemaintained that they make a man stupid."

  "On the contrary. Pythagoras assures us that the bean contains the samecomponent parts as the human brain."

  Having thus rehabilitated the bean, I reverted to the real motive of myvisit there.

  "I should have come to visit you to-day even without a specialinvitation."

  "Was there any special reason, then, why I should occupy a place in yourthoughts?"

  "I have received a letter from Italy, the contents of which will greatlyinterest you."

  At these words she looked at me as coldly as if she had become analabaster statue.

  "Interest _me_?"

  "So I believe. On the 20th instant there was a battle on the Mincio, atwhich your husband distinguished himself."

  "Really?" said the lady mechanically.

  ("Really?"--In that tone? It was rather odd. However, I went on.)

  "Nay, in the heat of the combat he was even wounded."

  (I calculated surely on the dramatic effect of these words. I fanciedthat the tender spouse would leap to her feet, pale, ready to faint,wringing her hands, till at last, amidst sobs, the name of the adoredhusband would burst forth from her lips: "Oh! my Wenceslaus! Oh! myKvatopil!" But she did not so much as turn her head round.)

  "Indeed?" she said, with complete _sangfroid_.

  Just as if it were an every-day occurrence for a beloved husband to bewounded in battle.

  I was offended. Such ungrateful indifference I had never met withbefore. How was I to go on? I had calculated that when the despairingconsort had wept and sobbed her fill, I should hasten to console her.

  "It is true," said I, "that his wound is not sufficiently dangerous toprevent him from continuing in the field."

  "I can easily believe it," replied the lady, with a shrug of theshoulders.

  Now this was a want of feeling worthy of an alligator! Surely she hadthe nerves of a rhinoceros! I was not prepared for this reception. "Ican easily believe it!" Was that all?

  Well, then, if our tender feelings are so hermetically sealed, we musttry what more drastic means will do. We must appeal to other sentiments.Vanity, for instance, is a sentiment which never can be blunted.

  So I moved forward my heavy artillery.

  "Lieutenant Kvatopil," I said, "was called to the front and made acaptain straight off for heroic valour in the field."

  But even at this the lovely lady did not fling herself on my neck. Shed
id not even utter a sound, but contracted the corners of her mouth.What did that mean? When you tell a lieutenant's wife that from to-dayshe has a right to the title Mrs. Captain; that every one who meets herin the street and congratulates her will address her as, "FrauRittmeisterin," while the other lieutenants' wives naturally burn withsecret envy; that she may now print her corresponding rank on hervisiting cards--when you tell her all this, and even then no impressionis produced, and the cherry lips do _not_ expand with joy, revealing thesparkling, pearly teeth and the dimples on the sunbright face; when,instead of that, she purses up her mouth so nastily and gives herself adouble chin--what _are_ you to think? There is nothing so hideous as apretty woman with a double chin. A double chin makes a woman lookabsolutely old.

  I was quite confused. What am I to do to amuse her now? Should I talkabout the weather?

  "May I congratulate you?" I said, seizing her hand.

  But not only did she _not_ press my hand in return, as she ought to havedone; on the contrary, she irritably drew it back and turned aside herhead.

  Suddenly a light flashed through my brain, a light kindled by myimmeasurable self-conceit. "Why go on praising the distant husband,"said I to myself, "when you yourself are present? Do you think sheinvited you to dinner to sing the praises of Wenceslaus Kvatopil?"

  I drew my chair nearer to the sofa on which Bessy was sitting, andairily passed my hand through my frizzled locks.

  Bessy observed the movement, and quickly turned her face towards me. Amocking smile suddenly lighted up her face, a smile from which a man canread a whole chapter in a moment. That is something like stenography.

  "Ha, ha, sir! then we have come thither with that thought, have we? Wehave had our hair frizzled, eh? We have decked ourselves out to beirresistible, I know?"

  A thousand mocking fish-tailed nixies were wriggling about in thosesea-like eyes.

  It was a murderous sort of smile.

  I was conscious of having been taken down pretty considerably. Here wasI (quite contrary to my usual custom) tricked and furbished up like a"_petit maitre_," while she, the lady, received me in her simplestbarracan house-dress, without any finery, and with a smile shedischarged at me the saying of the great poet:

  "O Vanity! thy name is woman!"

  But why, then, had she sent for me?

  Why had she driven away one visitor and denied herself to another if notfor my sake?

  Perhaps for the sake of a third party who had already arrived? When shecame out of her boudoir she seemed to me to be signalling with hereyebrows at some one.

  I quickly pulled myself together. I fancy I must have been very red inthe face, and I certainly had good reason to be ashamed of myself.

  I saw that I had not been able to reap laurels in the _role_ of DonJuan, so I began to take up the part of Tartuffe. Let us play therighteous judge!

  "Perhaps I have not come at a very convenient time?"

  "On the contrary, I _asked_ you to come at this time."

  "On a serious business, eh?"

  "A serious business for me."

  "But isn't what I've just been saying to you serious?"

  "Apparently."

  "Yet you received it with a very queer face."

  "I listened seriously enough."

  "But the affair had its cheerful aspect also, surely?"

  The fair dame made a contemptuous clicking with her tongue.

  "Don't you feel any interest, then, in Kvatopil's heroism, wounds,distinction, and promotion?"

  "No!" she replied resolutely, almost snapping my sentence in two. Hereyes sparkled like burning naphtha lakes.

  "No?" I repeated, in my amazement. "You take no interest in yourhusband's fate whether it be bad or good? You feel neither hot nor coldon the subject?"

  "No!"

  ("No!" again).

  "But you parted in the greatest affection when he went to the wars?"

  "True."

  "And it is scarcely a month since then."

  "Only twenty-nine days, I've counted them."

  "And meanwhile winter has come?"

  "It has."

  After that she began to laugh maliciously. She leaped to her feet andrumpled my frizzly hair with her fingers.

  "Let's leave the matter till after dinner; then I'll tell youeverything. But don't let us spoil a good dinner in the meantime. Youare quite horrified at me now, and fancy that I've laid a trap for you.You will see later on that this serious business of mine is not a joke.Let us leave it till after the black coffee."

  I revived again. The lady was capricious, and it suited her.

  "I was determined to give you a good dinner. I owe you your revenge. Itis a long time since we dined together. Last time I was your guest.Don't you remember? At the Pagan Altar. I never ate so heartily. Whatsplendid toast you had! And the bacon, too, broiled on a stick! Why,I've got the taste of that good red pepper of yours in my mouth to thisday! And now I mean to give you hospitality that you will remember for along time!"

  This again was delightfully reassuring! She was of the true catspecies--she purrs and fondles, but one must be continually on one'sguard against her claws.

  "Come now, help me to lay the table! My cook has enough to do withoutthat."

  So I had to help her lay the table, for the saloon was the dining-roomalso. One had only to remove the books, porcelain vases, and chinaknick-knacks from the table in front of the sofa, and then cover it withthe table-cloth.

  I was curious to see how many she would lay for. Only for two. Twoplates, two knives, forks and spoons, and two glasses.

  But how about that third person, that person in the bedroom yonder? Orhad I rightly interpreted that peculiar expression of hers? I wasbeginning to think the whole thing was pure hallucination on my part.

  Suddenly the scraping of a cautiously-moved chair sounded from theboudoir.

  I saw that the lady was considerably put out, and felt decidedlyuncomfortable. She wrathfully pressed her lips together.

  "Have you any one in the next room?" I inquired, in a stern, judicialvoice.

  "I have!" she replied defiantly.

  "Madame!" I exclaimed, in virtuous high dudgeon.

  "Would you like to know who _is_ inside?" she cried, in an offendedtone.

  "Oh, dear, no! I'm not a bit curious," said I, and began looking aboutfor my hat and stick.

  "But I _wish_ you to know," she cried indignantly, barring my way, and,seizing my hand, she led me to the door of the bedroom, and hastilyflung it open. In the room a blonde young lady stood before me gazing atme with wondering large blue eyes.

  Bessy introduced this lady to me.

  "Madame Wenceslaus Kvatopil, from Cracow."

  Then she pulled aside the bed-curtains, and on the bed was lying alittle girl about eleven years of age.

  "This is Wenceslaus Kvatopil's daughter. Poor things! let us leave themalone!"

  For at least a minute I felt as if some magic power were whirling meround and round the globe with it from the North Pole to the Equator,and back again.

  How I got out of that room into the other I really cannot say. Beforeme continually were the faces of that large-eyed, timid-looking womanand the little girl.

  I heard the sound of weeping behind me.

  It was Bessy. She had hidden her face in her hands, and was sobbing.

  "Oh, how I loved that man! How good, how perfect I thought him! Ifancied him a model man! Even now I cannot accuse him. It was not hisfault, but mine alone. His sin is my crime. Oh, what folly! Let us speakof the situation seriously. You know now, I suppose, why I wanted to seeyou. I wished to ask your advice."

  I sat down beside her.

  Bessy dried her eyes, and then began to speak quite soberly.

  "The whole world judges me wrongly. They fancy I am full of levity. Butif anything pains me, the pain lasts a long, long time. Since _he_ wentaway I have been nowhere, and seen nobody. If any of my oldacquaintances came to see me, I told them that the whole place wastopsy-turvy,
and there was not even a chair to sit down upon. My servanthad orders to say to every one who called--_with one exception_--that Iwas not visible. Who was this exception? Yourself! She could easilyguess whom I meant, and if she didn't guess it, it didn't much matter.When _he_ had to go away so suddenly, he was in a very tender mood. Hewanted to make me swear that I would not be faithless while he wasaway. He even brought me a crucifix for the purpose, and when he sawthat I laughed at him, he besought me, if I really must deceive him, atleast not to bestow my favours upon the first ragamuffin that turned up;nay, he even took the trouble to indicate a worthy man to me, of whom hecould not be jealous; whereupon I told him, very seriously, that the manhe meant was capable of _killing_ anybody who stood in the way of _his_love, but was altogether incapable of _filching_ love from anybodyelse!"

  (At this my face grew very red indeed.)

  "Then he suddenly assumed a mystic mood, he knew my weak side. He said:'If you deceive me for the sake of any other man, at that same moment Ishall die. Day and night I stand where death is meted out every instant,and the moment a kiss from your lips touches the lips of another man, atthat self-same moment, I say, the bullet which is lying in wait for mewill fly straight to my heart!' A horrible saying! It would not let mesleep, and rose up before me in my dreams. When one or other of my ladyfriends came to visit me and we fell a-chatting and began to laugh andjoke, a sort of cold shiver would suddenly run all down my body. While Iam smiling, I thought, perhaps he is dying a death of torments beneaththe horses' hoofs. Every savoury morsel sticks in my throat when Ithink--perhaps he is now suffering hunger and thirst; and when the blastshakes my windows, I think--now he is standing defenceless amidst thetempest and freezing. And I unable to protect him!

  "In short, this threat of his made me quite a somnambulist. At last Idenied myself even to my lady friends. I became quite morbid. I fanciedI had no right to be gay. Ten times a day I went to the crucifix bywhich he had wished me to swear and knelt down before it to pray. I madeall sorts of vows provided he were preserved and brought back safely tome. And yet I am a Calvinist! But that crucifix was _his_. He remainedfaithful to it through all his change of faith. In fact, I was in a fairway of becoming a Pietist. I began to think a life of virtue verybeautiful. I should very much have liked to see you now and again, ifonly to show you that I could be just as moral as you. I would havepraised your wife to you, and you would have returned the compliment bypraising my husband. This would have been my ambition."

  It was the cook who interrupted this burst of feeling.

  "Shall I bring in the stew, madame?"

  "Yes, bring it in, if it is ready."

  Then she turned to me to explain the circumstances of the case.

  "I have to let these ladies have their food cooked separately, forMagyar dishes would make them mortally ill. That is why I don't lay thetable for three. _Your_ favourite dishes would be death to theseGermans."

  The cook now brought in the stewed chicken.

  Bessy tasted it first with a little spoon to see if it were saltedenough, and also to see whether the cook had put parsley in it bymistake, for the doctor who was attending the little girl had forbiddenevery sort of seasoning ingredients in her food. Then she herself slicedup a roll of the best white bread for the little girl, poured some waterfor her into a glass, and warmed it a little by holding it tightly for awhile between the palms of her hands instead of popping a live coal intoit, as thoughtful mothers often do for their sick children. For themother of the child, however, she had a bottle of Pilsener beeruncorked, and sent to her.

  Only when they had dined was our dinner served.

  Meanwhile, we did not resume our interrupted conversation; the servantwas constantly passing in and out, and we could not speak before her.Then, after that, when we sat down to dinner (and a bitter meal it wasto me) the thread of our conversation was broken as often as the cookcame in with a new dish or to change a plate, and all that time sheplayed the part of the amiable hostess, inviting me to fall to in goodold Hungarian style.

  "One morning," she said, "while I was doing my hair, my servant came andtold me that a shabby-looking woman was outside, with a biggish girl,making inquiries about the lieutenant. I went out to them into thekitchen. I saw before me a blonde, blue-eyed woman, of about the sameage as myself, and clinging to her arm was a lanky slip of a growinggirl about ten or eleven years of age. In the woman's hand was atravelling-bag and an umbrella. She was in bourgeois costume, withoutthe fashionable crinoline, and on her head was a simple felt cap; hergirl was dressed in just the same way. They both wore their hair quitesmooth and combed back from the forehead.

  "The woman wished me good-day in German.

  "I asked her what she wanted.

  "The woman replied that she wanted her husband, Mr. Wenceslaus Kvatopil.

  "'The lieutenant?'

  "'When he left me he was only a lieutenant.'

  "I quickly caught her by the hand and led her out of the kitchen intothe saloon. My servant, fortunately, did not understand German.

  "I led them right into my bedroom. I invited them both to be seated.

  "'Ah, that will do us good,' said the woman, 'for we have come a longway. We have come here from Cracow.'

  "'Surely not on foot?'

  "'On foot all the way. We couldn't afford to come by rail.'

  "Just fancy! The very thought is terrible! To come on foot all thosehundred miles hither from Cracow with a growing girl! Can one'simagination realize such a thing?

  "'Are you the wife of Lieutenant Wenceslaus Kvatopil?' I inquired of thewoman.

  "'I am, and this is his daughter, Marianna.'

  "And by way of proving her assertion she drew from her travelling-bagher marriage lines, extracted from the registers of the cathedral ofCracow, to wit:--'Bridegroom: Wenceslaus Kvatopil, Sub-Lieutenant in the*** Dragoons. Bride: Anna Dunkircher. Witnesses: Babolescky, Colonel,and Kolmarscky, shopkeeper. Officiating clergyman: Stanislaus Lubousky.Dated, Feb. 16th, 1846.'

  "Then she showed me the baptismal certificate of the daughter.'Marianna, born in lawful wedlock, June 19th, 1846. Father:Sub-Lieutenant Wenceslaus Kvatopil. Mother: Anna Dunkircher. Officiatingclergyman: Stanislaus Lubousky. Godparents: the above-mentionedmarriage-witnesses.'

  "A marriage contract, duly attested, was also among the documents."

  All at once Bessy burst out laughing.

  The cook came in and brought the soup.

  "Ha! ha! ha! Do you know why, according to Ollendorf, the Captainweeps?"

  "Because the Englishman has no bread."

  "Look, Susy, you've forgotten to give my guardian some bread! Give him acrusty bit, he likes that!"

  The servant apologised, but said that she didn't think the soup requiredbread.

  It was excellent soup, made of cream and eggs and rice andfinely-chopped chicken. Bessy filled my plate with it.

  "Thank you, that will be enough."

  When the servant went out we resumed our conversation. And here, I mayremark, by the way, that there is no more pleasant _tete-a-tete_ in theworld than that which is interrupted every ten minutes or so by theincursions of the servants.

  "Now we know," said I, "what was the cause of the extraordinaryphenomenon of a happy bridegroom beginning to sob bitterly immediatelyafter his marriage. It was his deserted wife and child that the poorfellow was thinking about."

  "True, but don't let your soup cool on that account. Would you like alittle Parmesan with it?"

  "Thank you, but I like it much better without."

  "Wenceslaus Kvatopil liked his _with_ Parmesan."

  Then we settled down to our soup.

  "Wenceslaus Kvatopil always had a second serving of rice soup."

  "Thank you, but I never take a second serving of any dish."

  "I know that, and I also know that it is your habit to leave the bestbit at the side of your plate."

  "How did you come to know that?"

  "I first observed it when I was a little girl and yo
u sometimes came todine with us. They say that it is a species of superstition; the tit-bitplaced at the side of the plate signifies that our distant true love issuffering from hunger."

  "It is no superstition, but a simple rule of health to leave off eatingand drinking while your appetite is still at its best."

  Thus we continued our dietetic discussions as if we had no other desirein the world than to live a ripe old age and be free from gout.

  I have already mentioned that there was chopped-up chicken in the soup,and that portion of the chicken fell to Bessy's lot which is known asthe spur-bone.

  Now, it is a well-known custom among young unmarried ladies inconfidential conclave, when one of them gets such a spur-bone, for herto invite her fair colleague to crack the bone with her. One of themthen takes one end of the spur-bone and the other takes the other end,and they pull away in different directions till the bone comes in two.Whichever of them gets the spur portion will be married soonest. That isa fantastic sort of superstition, if you like.

  Bessy laughed and said:

  "When we ate our first dinner together, a spur-bone of this sort fellinto my hands. I stretched it out towards Anna. 'Pull,' I said, 'and seewhich of us is to have Kvatopil.'"

  "Then you got to be good friends pretty quickly?"

  "Why shouldn't we? Hadn't we both the same husband? I naturally keptthem here with me. I don't know what would have become of them if Ihadn't taken them in. At this moment they haven't got a farthing. Theytravelled the whole distance on coffee only. They had no other uppergarments but what they were actually wearing on their bodies.... Myfirst duty was to get them properly dressed. My clothes fitted the womanvery well, and I bought some for the child in Kerepesi Street. But thelittle one had to take to her bed immediately, for she had a badheadache and was very feverish. I sent for a doctor, and he gave hersome medicine which sent her to sleep. She and her mother have slept inmy bed ever since, and I sleep on the sofa.--Won't you have a littleliver?"

  "No, thank you. Pray, go on!"

  "When the poor lady saw that I received her kindly, her heart melted;she fell upon my neck, and our tears flowed like spring showers. We knewthat one of us would be the death of the other, but which was to be thevictim? Then we quickly told each other our experiences of our commonhusband, and how we first met him. I could make a strange dramatic sceneout of it.

  "I inquired: 'Come now, Anna, tell me, how did you first meet withKvatopil, and how could you remain absent from him for thirteen years?'Anna replied: 'It is a strange story. Do you happen to know, Bessy, thehistory of the Cracow Republic?'

  "I: 'No, dear, I never heard of the poor thing.'

  "Anna: 'Then you must know that it is a large Polish town where thePolish kings were formerly crowned and buried when they died. I am anative of that city. My father was a famous glove-maker in Cracow, whosegoods were sold far and wide. Our town was the last free Polish Republicwhen Poland was finally partitioned. Its territory consisted oftwenty-two square miles.'"

  ("Less than Debreczin," I interrupted.)

  Bessy went on with Anna's narrative:--

  "'When I was a little girl ten years of age a fresh Polish insurrectionbroke out. The united forces of the Austrians, Russians, and Prussiansagain put it down, and the care of the Cracow Republic was entrusted toAustria. The old Polish customs and assemblies remained in force, butAustrian soldiers garrisoned the citadel continually. When I was sixteenyears old my mother died, and I had to take her place behind thecounter. Here I made the acquaintance of Kvatopil. He was a youngsub-lieutenant, and he generally came to our shop to buy his gloves.Would that he had stopped short at gloves! Can any one justly give a badname to a young girl because she is confiding? I believed in him! And hereally had such a good heart. When he saw that I had only to choosebetween shame and death, he went to my father and begged for my hand.Naturally they gave us to each other. It was never the custom among thePoles when a girl married a soldier for her to go and ask permissionfirst of all from the military authorities, and deposit a terribly bigsum by way of caution-money; the priest simply united us without anyquestionings. We had not been man and wife a week when the Revolutionagain broke out. Cracow was the centre of the Polish rising. At firstthe Polish rebels fought with great success. I saw the Polish scythemendrive my husband's cavalry regiment from one end of the street to theother. My husband had not even time to say good-bye to me.'

  "'Then you are a Pole?' said I.

  "'Why shouldn't I be?' replied Anna. 'Surely I may be a Pole though Ihave a German name? Dark days followed. My little girl was born. Twice aday I felt bound to go to church--the first time to pray that my countrymight triumph, and the second time to pray that my husband might returnto me. A mad idea, wasn't it? Surely it is impossible for Deity even togrant two diametrically opposite prayers at the same time? My husbandreturned indeed to Cracow, but the Polish cause was crushed. Thechampions of freedom fled in all directions, and the garrison troopsreturned. It was a sad meeting. After that catastrophe Cracow ceased tobe a republic, and was incorporated with the Austrian hereditarypossessions as a simple city. My father wept, but I rejoiced because Ihad got my husband back. But very soon I was punished for my criminaljoy. My husband informed me that things were going badly with us.Hitherto the Austrian officers in Cracow had not been wont to ask thepermission of their general to marry. Now, however, when Cracow had beenjoined to Austria, the military regulations of the rest of the empirehad been extended to us, and a lieutenant's wife had to pay downcaution-money to the amount of 7,000 florins. My father was incapable ofraising such a sum. He had another daughter besides me, and could notwithdraw so large a sum from his business. Danger threatened us if myhusband's superiors discovered his marriage, for in such a case Kvatopilwould have been degraded to the ranks. My father suggested that Kvatopilshould quit the profession of arms and settle down to some sort ofprofession. But it was an impossible idea. Who would give employment inCracow to an Austrian officer who had taken up arms against the Poles?

  "'Just about this time, too, Kvatopil was promoted to the rank of seniorlieutenant. This at once inflamed our hearts with the joyous hope thathe would rapidly scale the ladder of promotion, and we knew that if oncehe became a major he would not have to deposit his matrimonialcaution-money, and we might then fearlessly publish the fact that wewere man and wife. Nobody knew of it hitherto except our friends andrelations.

  "'So we agreed to keep it quiet, and immediately afterwards Kvatopil andhis regiment were transferred to Hungary.

  "'Since the revolution broke out in Hungary I have heard nothing moreof Kvatopil. I know not where he is, or what has become of him, orwhether he is alive or dead: no tidings of him whatever. In times of warthey make a mystery of the whereabouts of this or that regiment.

  "'Once we read from a bulletin that my husband's regiment had taken partin a battle in the Banat. My poor father then resolved to go personallyto the Banat and inquire of the colonel whether my husband was stillalive. Just as he got there, they were burying the colonel with greatpomp. He had died of typhus fever. He had been the witness of ourmarriage, and was the only one of the officers who knew anything aboutit. He had kept his secret well, for his officiating as a witness at anirregular ceremony might have cost him his place also. All that thelieutenant-colonel could tell us of Kvatopil was, that his company hadbeen detached on some expedition, and had not come back. Possibly theHungarian insurgents had eaten them all up.

  "'I could thus very well put on and wear mourning, and till the end ofthe war I heard not a word about my husband.'

  "So far spoke Anna; but now I began to speak.

  "'You didn't hear of him, because all through the campaign he wasclosely invested in the besieged Temesvar with his company, and no newscould come out of that place till the end of the year.'

  "'But why couldn't he let me hear from him when Temesvar was free again?He could at least have written that he was still alive?'

  "'The cause of that is easy to find. So far as
he was concerned, thewhole campaign was sterile of glory. As a cavalry officer he was unableto be of any service to the besieged city. At the end of the campaign hestill remained a senior lieutenant, whilst all the others had reachedthe rank of captain. Bitter disappointment was all that remained to him.An officer who is passed over is worse off than if he were dead. Hecannot even say, "Thank God, I am still alive!"'

  "'But subsequently? In all these latter years? Why didn't he write to meall these three or four years, if but a line to say that he was stillalive and thinking of me, and of the child whom he loved so much?'

  "'I can tell you the reason of that also,' I said. 'To save a frivolouscomrade, he got into debt, and fell into the hands of unmercifulusurers, who immediately dragged him deeper into the mire. An officer insuch a vexatious position is certainly not very much inclined to fetterhimself with a wife and child as well. It is now not only the want ofthe caution-money which separates him from you, but also that nasty bogcalled Debt. This bog he cannot wade through. If under suchcircumstances he thinks of his wife and child, that only increases hisdespair. If he wrote you a letter at all, it would only contain theselines: "By the time you read these lines I shall have ceased to exist."'

  "Anna was curious to know how far into debt Kvatopil had actually got. Iimmediately mentioned the neat little sum it amounted to.

  "You should have seen what a long face my friend pulled.

  "She asked me in consternation whether this immense load of debt stillremained upon him.

  "The situation was so droll that, despite all its bitterness, I couldn'thelp laughing. I could read from the poor simple creature's face that ifI were to say to her, 'My dear, sweet friend, debt is the one thing inthis earth which the tooth of time never nibbles, Kvatopil's bills stilllive' (this was quite true, but they were living in my strong box), shewould have been capable, poor, unhappy lady! of taking her little girlby the hand and walking all the way back to Cracow. But I was sorry forthe poor thing. I told her the pure naked truth. Four years long herhusband had told her nothing of his goings on because of his creditors,but after that time because of me. I made his acquaintance; I did notknow that he was married; I fell in love with him, and--offered him myhand. I was bound to acknowledge that he had hesitated to accept it. Hemade all sorts of excuses except the unexceptionable one that he had awife already. But as he was already up to his eyes in hot water he hadhad no choice but to blow his brains out or commit bigamy. Apparentlyhe had regarded the latter alternative as the less unpleasant one.

  "Anna herself admitted that it was very much wiser of Kvatopil to havechosen the latter course. What a good, affectionate creature the womanwas!

  "I then satisfied her that I had paid off all worthy Kvatopil's debtsbefore his marriage. I even showed her the bills preserved in my strongbox, explaining to her besides that they had now expired, but that I didnot mean to proceed against Kvatopil for the amount in spite of ouraltered relations. At this the good soul fell down at my feet, sheddingtears of gratitude. She even kissed my knees, and assured me that shewould bless my memory to the very day of her death. Ever since thiscomforting reassurance on my part, her tender inclination for thebeloved Kvatopil was perfectly re-established.

  "I put the finishing touch to my kind-heartedness by describing to herthe scene when Kvatopil, as bridegroom, fell to weeping bitterly afterthe wedding; there could be no doubt that those bitter tears were shedon account of his forsaken wife and daughter.

  "This quite overcame poor Anna. 'Look now, what a good heart poorKvatopil has!' said she.

  "Then we began quoting to each other the various noble traits that wehad mutually discovered in Kvatopil's character...."

  --"Well, did you find the pig's ears with beans to your liking, sir?"inquired the cook of me at that moment, as she came in to change thedishes.

  "On my word of honour as a poet, I have never tasted such pig's ears andbeans," I replied.

  An apricot pasty followed, of which--I confess it freely--I am alsofond.

  Bessy then continued her story:--

  "I went to my lawyer, put my case before him, and asked him what headvised me to do in my situation. I applied to him first (a dry, prosaicman, with his mental vision bounded by the law); after that, I wanted tolay the matter before you, that you might judge between us."

  "Between whom?"

  "Between me and my lawyer, for we are of diametrically opposite views asto what I ought to do next."

  "Then you have a view on the subject, too?"

  "Of course I have; but listen first to the view of the man learned inthe law, and before you do that, let us drink to the health of those welove, and those who love us."

  We drank the toast accordingly, but we mentioned no names.

  "And now listen to the opinion of the lawyer:--

  "'It is a great misfortune, certainly,' he said, 'but the only person tosuffer will be Anna Dunkircher. If we lived in ordinary peaceful times,the business might be settled by the military authorities compellingLieutenant Wenceslaus Kvatopil to renounce his rank by marrying contraryto the regulations. In that case the marriage contracted with AnnaDunkircher would remain valid. On the other hand, according to the tenorof the Austrian criminal law, Mr. Kvatopil would then have the pleasantprospect of two years' imprisonment for the subsequently committed crimeof bigamy. Nevertheless, under our present circumstances, when the armyof Lombardy has great need of every valiant and experienced officer, theCracow wife would, undoubtedly, get this answer for her trouble: "Yourmarriage has been contracted illegally, and is consequently null andvoid." The parson who joined them would be sent for a twelvemonth to amonastery, by way of penitential discipline; but Wenceslaus Kvatopilwould remain a lieutenant, or even, if he distinguished himself, becomea captain. You, consequently, will be Mrs. Lieutenant, and perhaps Mrs.Captain, for the annulling of the former marriage will restore to youall your rights.'

  "Those were the lawyer's words. I laid them to heart. Now, do you knowanything of martial law?"

  "I frankly confess that martial law occupies a most prominent placeamong those sciences which I do _not_ know."

  "Well, I'll tell you what I replied to him. 'Good!' I said, 'the laws,the circumstances, the position of things, everything, in fact, provesand proves to demonstration that Anna Dunkircher has forfeited all hermarital rights; but has not the law of the human heart also itsvalidity? Do I express myself in proper legal phraseology?'"

  At this I couldn't help laughing, but she proceeded with her story.

  "My lawyer was very far indeed from laughing. 'What!' said he, 'do youimagine that Wenceslaus Kvatopil's heart still beats for his first wifewhom he deserted--to whom he did not write of set purpose, not even whenhe could, lest he might thus have supplied some written testimony to thefact of her really having been Wenceslaus Kvatopil's lawful spouse, andnot merely some betrayed girl with whom he had, at some time or other,unlawfully cohabited? Do you fancy that Wenceslaus Kvatopil, thirteenyears after the event, is still so romantic as to ask for his dismissalfrom the service in the middle of a campaign, on the very field ofbattle, and desert the standard of his Sovereign, whom he has sworn toobey, simply to enable Anna Dunkircher to save her matronly dignity? Doyou fancy that Wenceslaus Kvatopil will throw up his career at the verymoment when it is full of the most brilliant hopes for him, and allowhimself to be shut up as a felon for a couple of years, at the end ofwhich time he will be discharged a branded beggar, simply to live forthe rest of his life as the lawful husband of a beggar woman even morebeggarly than himself? And finally, do you imagine that WenceslausKvatopil has so completely lost the use of his five senses as to becapable of spurning away from him, and exposing to the contempt of thewhole world, a young and lovely consort like yourself, a rich and noblelady who can keep him in comfort for the rest of his days--and all forwhat? for the sake of taking back a faded, withered woman, whose face iswrinkled with care, who is the daughter of an honest glover, to whom itwould be no advantage to stick the name of Kvatopil on h
is sign-boardinstead of the time-honoured firm of Dunkircher? No, madam. That he issuch a good-hearted man as all that I do not for one moment believe. Iwould as soon believe in sea-maidens with finny tails--upon my word Iwould.'

  "I did not interrupt my lawyer. I allowed him to have his say out. Butwhen he made a brief pause, I said to him: 'I am not speaking ofKvatopil's heart, but of my own.'

  "'Your own?' cried he, in amazement. 'What has _your_ heart got to dowith it?'

  "'I have my own notion of settling this painful business,' I said. 'Ipropose to transfer to Anna Dunkircher the surety-money which Ideposited on the occasion of our marriage, and then she will havesatisfied the conditions imposed on officers who marry--and may she andher husband be happy. I can easily disappear somewhere in the crowd. Theworld is large.'

  "At this the lawyer flew into a passion. 'If you do that,' he cried,'you are only fit to be locked up in a lunatic asylum at Dobling.'

  "Nevertheless," concluded Bessy, "it is my serious and fixed resolve todo so."

  I could not help laying my hand on hers. What true, what noblesentiments were slumbering in that heart! If only she had had some oneto awaken them! What an excellent lady might have been made out of thiswoman, if she had only met with a husband who, in the most ordinaryacceptance of the word, had been a good fellow, as is really the casewith about _nine_ men out of every ten. Why should she have alwaysmanaged to draw the unlucky _tenth_ out of the urn of destiny?

  She guessed my thoughts during that moment of silence. Those large, deepfiery eyes slowly filled with tears. The fire of a diamond is nothing tobe compared with the fiery sparkle of those tears. How lovely she was atthat moment!

  Her lips began to quiver, and she could scarcely pronounce the words:

  "_That other woman had a child._"

  And at this she began to sob convulsively, covering her face with onehand, and squeezing my hand violently with the other.

  My heart was so touched that, a very little more, and I should havemingled my tears with hers.

  When she had wept out her bitter mood, she sighed deeply, and dried hertears.

  "Now you know why I asked you to come here," said she. "Be you thejudge in this matter. Which is right, the reason or the heart? Am I todo what my lawyer advises, or what my own feelings suggest?"

  It was a difficult matter.

  "Let us see," I said, "can't we hit upon some middle course? I adviseyou neither to do what your lawyer advises nor what you yourselfpropose. Wait a bit. The great war is still going on, more than amillion of warriors are standing face to face. Not a fifth part of thatnumber will return to their homes when the war is over. In this war yourKvatopil will either fall or remain alive. If he falls, you can both gointo mourning. You need not quarrel about the widow's veil. If, however,Kvatopil survives the end of the war, a brave and ambitious officer likehim will undoubtedly have mounted higher on the ladder of promotion--thebattle-field is the forcing house of advancement! He will have become amajor, and as major he will not be required to deposit[109] anymatrimonial caution-money. He can then take his Anna Dunkircher, and youwill have no need to surrender your guarantee money, which you want verymuch yourself."

  [Footnote 109: I say this of past times.--M. J.]

  "I thank you," said the lady. "'Tis every bit as simple as the egg ofColumbus. Then we'll wait, Anna and I, till the war is over, and tillthen we'll make one family."

  "Let me call your attention to one thing, however. For the present itwould be well if you were to hide yourself somewhere, in some littletown, for instance, where nobody knows you. Here, in this capital, youwill quickly find yourself in an awkward and untenable position. Thestory of the first wife will very quickly be known by all the world. Thetitle of _straw-widow_ would do pretty well perhaps, but the title of_straw-wife_ won't do at all. Pack up your traps, I say, go straight offto the country to-morrow, and take your guests along with you."

  "I'll do so."

  We had scarcely finished speaking when the doctor knocked at the door.When there's sickness in the house one cannot deny oneself to thedoctor. The doctor, too, was an old acquaintance of mine. He had a veryextensive practice, and he was a homoeopathist. I could take it asabsolutely certain that when he went his rounds among his patients onthe morrow, he would let them have, in addition to their _nux vomica_,or whatever else it might be, the very latest bit of scandal--to wit,that he had found me closeted with the pretty lady, and both of us inour cups--tea-cups of course.

  I waited till he came back from his little patient. He satisfied us thatthere was now no danger, and she might leave her bed.

  Bessy asked whether the girl might be taken into the country.

  "Yes, it will do her good."

  The doctor and I left at the same time.

  I had no sooner got out of the door than I again stumbled upon ToniSagi.

  "_Corpo di Bacco!_ And you have been sitting all this time with thatpretty young lady?"

  "And you have been walking all the time in front of the door, eh?"

  The window of the house opposite was full of inquisitive female faces. Irushed into a coach and had myself driven to the railway station. Thesame evening I was at Szeged. There I remained for three days, andstayed with my wife till her provincial engagement was over. On everyone of these three days one or two anonymous letters reached my wifefrom Buda-Pest of the following import: "My poor dear friend,--Yourhusband passes whole nights and days with his former lady-love, thelieutenant's wife. Our hearts bleed for you. The whole town knows allabout it."

  How we did laugh at these letters! But what if I had _not_ traversed theintentions of our _dear friends_?