“Grandfather, don’t die!” I pleaded. I picked up his hand, squeezing it convulsively. “Please don’t die, not now... Lajos!”
I cast wildly around for him, but he was already beside me, crouching down by the old man, placing his fingers at the base of the scrawny throat. His hand fell away. Slowly, his eyes lifted to mine, and he stood, drawing me with him.
“He’s dead, Katie.”
I closed my eyes tightly. My grandfather was dead. His fierce, stubborn old heart had finally stopped beating, and he was dead. He would never know now that I hadn’t meant the awful things I had said last night, that I loved him in spite of everything, because of everything...
“Don’t, Katie,” Lajos said gently, and my hands twisted in his. I gasped, letting the wetness loose on my face, burying it in his shoulder.
I don’t know how long it was — only a few moments, I think — before he let me go.
“Katie, I have to try and sort this out before the soldiers come.”
“Yes,” I agreed quietly. “I’ll wait here, with him.”
* * * *
István and Mattias found me there an hour later. By then it was quiet outside. The soldiers had come, the fires were out, and the dead were mourned in silence. White-faced, the old Count’s sons came to take his body home, and my grief inevitably paled before their greater loss.
His body was carried outside by his old valet and Mark. The three of us followed, wordlessly. The sunlight blinded me as I stepped outside the church, taking me by surprise. I stopped, letting them go ahead to the waiting carriage while the full awfulness of the day flooded through me.
We weren’t the only bereaved family today, I thought drearily, not by a long way. Some soldiers were marching past me, momentarily blocking the sun; and I saw that they had prisoners, mostly the Romanian strangers, their shoulders drooping in defeat. I took the last step, and then paused again. Two more soldiers were passing now, and between them, they held Lajos Lázár.
Oh no, I thought stupidly. Oh no, not this too. Looking up just then, he saw me, and his lips moved in a rueful smile, even as he was pulled on.
“Wait!” Almost involuntarily, I was running after them, placing myself in their path so that they had to stop. “What are you doing?”
The soldiers stared at me, but I suppose my dress proclaimed rank, even without a hat, for after a stupefied pause, one of them said, “Arresting ringleaders, madam.”
“Ringleaders? But he didn’t lead them! He was trying to stop them!” I could hear the tears of rage in my own voice, but I no longer cared.
“It’s all right, Katie,” Lajos was saying, his voice ridiculously calm, even gentle, despite the hoarseness that would be with him for days yet. His eyes were calm too, quite unconcerned. “I can deal with this, you know.”
“But...!”
“Orders, madam,” the soldier said brusquely, and they pulled him on, regardless.
After all the rest, this was intolerable. Looking around me wildly for an officer to put an end to this final injustice before it was too late, I was too determined to feel more than relief when I saw Colonel von Avenheim standing gravely beside István and Mattias while my grandfather’s body was laid in the coach.
I went up to him at once, barely registering his gentle words of condolence, or the old feeling for me which still lurked behind his normally cool, blue eyes.
“Your men have arrested Lajos Lázár,” I said without preamble.
“Not before time,” István said tightly. “I swear I shall never forgive him, not for this.”
I turned to stare at him. “But this isn’t his fault, István! He was trying to stop the violence! He was risking his own life to stop it! And when my grandfather became ill, he protected us...”
“Don’t upset yourself,” the Colonel said soothingly, already beginning to move away. “I’ll look into it.”
Impetuously, I caught at his arm. “I mean it, Colonel! He is innocent...!” My voice cracked. “Has there not been enough tragedy without this injustice too?”
“I won’t allow any injustice,” he said gently, and so sincerely that my agitation began to subside. He even smiled slightly. “On the other hand, it will do Lázár no harm to cool his heels in prison for a while and contemplate the consequences of popular unrest!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
My grandfather was laid to rest with his ancestors in the family vault. Despite the troubled times, his neighbours turned out in force to honour him. The peasants, silent, sullen, watched from a distance: few of them — if any — had loved the old Count; he had been the representative of an unjust regime under which they had toiled all their lives, a tyrannical and irritable lord. And yet, I had the impression that they were shocked, as if his death had left an empty space. Something stable had left their lives — even if it was only a symbol of hate. They had lost the major scapegoat for all their ills.
Though in his grief István threatened it, none of them, Hungarian or Romanian, were blamed for the old Count’s death. It was as well, for they had troubles enough without that. Only three people had died in the end — Lajos had managed to calm them down before the arrival of the soldiers, which had almost certainly prevented further deaths — but one of the victims was a child, and many men, including Zoltán Lázár, had been severely injured. Crops had been destroyed, animals killed, livelihoods ruined. Wounds had been opened up in the community so deep that I didn’t see how they would ever heal.
* * * *
The day after my grandfather’s burial, Alex paid a visit to the castle. In the confusion, he was conducted directly to Katalin who was, fortunately, alone with me in the drawing room at the time. I remember feeling stifled by the heavy atmosphere of death which still hung around the house, oppressed by my own and other peoples’ griefs so that it was almost a relief to see an outside face, even one which should not have been there.
Katalin flew straight into his arms — while I gazed tactfully out of the window — and wept when he told her he was leaving for Blaj in the morning. There was to be another national congress there next month.
“Perhaps this time it won’t be a long parting,” Katalin said at last, a note of eagerness in her woeful voice. “I believe István will eventually give us permission to marry.”
Alex hugged her tightly but I, turning thoughtfully towards them, saw that his expression was far from joyful. On the contrary, it was anguished. When he left, I made sure it was I who conducted him to the front door. His face was haggard as he took my hand.
“You will look after her, won’t you?”
I met his tragic gaze squarely, quietly withdrawing my hand. “I understood that was to be your job — as her husband.”
“Things do not — always — work out — just as one plans,” he said with difficulty.
“Are you telling me you no longer wish to marry her?”
“Of course I do!” he burst out. “I wish it more than ever, with all my heart! But how easy would that be, Katie, if there was war between her people and mine?”
Cocooned in your own troubles, it is easy to forget the world. My eyes fell away from his. “There must not be war,” I said determinedly. “You and Lajos must see to it.”
Alex smiled sadly. “Lajos and I are mere drops of rain in an ocean. I’m afraid we shall have as little effect. Look what happened even here, where they know him. He asked me to tell you, by the way, that he is leaving tomorrow too — for Buda-Pest.”
I swallowed that without too much pain. It was not unexpected, and though I would have liked to see him before he went, I had no right to keep him here, not after I had refused to marry him. I thought the wider arena of Buda-Pest would be a relief to him now. I knew he was grieving for the old tyrant, his enemy. He had wronged my grandfather in the past, forced his financial help and fought him at every turn, without gratitude, and yet there had been love there too, on both sides. I had seen it, almost unbearably, in that little village church.
And o
f course the inter-racial violence so close to home — even his own brother had not been an innocent victim — he must regard as a personal failure. In the end, he had spent two nights in prison at Vanora before Colonel von Avenheim had let him go. I could only guess at the thoughts with which he had passed the time. The peasants looked on his release as a victory, but from the one glimpse I had had of his face on the day of my grandfather’s burial, he had not been in the least triumphant.
Sighing, I put out my hand again. “Good-bye, Alex — and whatever happens, I wish you luck.”
* * * *
Towards the end of August, István seemed to snap quite suddenly out of his grief. The news he received continually from Buda-Pest and Vienna began to penetrate again to the active part of his mind, and he became anxious to return to the capital, for as revolutionary fervour was fading, the Court in Vienna was gradually recovering its nerve, just as Colonel von Avenheim had foretold, flexing its muscles after General Radetzky’s great victory over the Italians at Custozza. And if Hungary was not to be a victim of this revival, strong, sound heads were needed at the country’s helm.
So on the first day of September, we all left together for Buda-Pest in the usual cavalcade of coaches. For the first time, Margit came with us; excited yet almost frightened by her new freedom, she twittered unbearably till everyone’s nerves were shrieking and I began to realize why my grandfather had so often lost his temper with her. The journey had never seemed so awful.
However, there was worse to come, for even before we reached Buda-Pest we heard of the King’s Memorandum: with one blow, he had rescinded the April Laws, demanded the surrender of the separate Hungarian ministries and ordered the Hungarians to end military preparations against the Croats. I was not really surprised to discover Buda-Pest on the verge of a second revolution.
* * * *
Pest quay was more crowded than I had ever seen it, but unexpectedly the sight of it brought back all the pleasure I had taken in the scene when I had first arrived from Vienna. Everything was still busy and dazzlingly colourful, but added to that now was an air of suspense and excitement.
In common with half the city, we had turned out to see the return of Batthyány and the Assembly’s delegation, who had gone to the King in a last ditch attempt to have the infamous Memorandum revoked. The milling crowd parted easily for us — our obvious station guaranteed that. Revolutionary equality, I thought drily, was only on the surface; it would be a long time before anyone regarded the balding little clerk on my left in the same light as Count Szelényi on my right.
I heard the whistle of the incoming steam-ship, and the answering blast from Pest quay. I could see the ship coming closer, but the sun was in my eyes and it glinted red and fuzzy. Taking my spectacles off, I cleaned them on a handkerchief and put them back on rather slowly.
If I had not already known, the tension of the waiting crowd would have told me how much depended upon the answer these men were bringing. The King’s simple refusal would force his Hungarian people from legal opposition to rebellion. And rebellion meant, inevitably, war.
Other eyes were sharper than mine, even with the benefit of my spectacles. The noise and babble of the crowd faded slowly. Silence fell. Beside me, I heard István make a sound that was almost a groan. I had allowed myself to hope, but even that was gone now, for the steam-ship sailing into the harbour was flying a red flag which cried out defiance bravely and distinctly against the hazy paleness of the river and the sky and the hills.
And the men on board, who were leaning on the rails watching as the ship pulled in to the quay, all wore red feathers in their hats and red kerchiefs round their necks or wrists. That was what had caused the red haze in the distance.
The King had refused. He had gone back on his word, and God alone knew what dangers the future now held. I looked up at István, to ask for confirmation or reassurance, but then, some way beyond him, my eye was caught at last, and held by the figure of Lajos. He was with Petöfi and Vasvári and some others, looking as sombre as I felt, but I could see in his stance no loss of vitality, only a tension about to burst into action.
And inevitably it was their little group who broke the silence. “Long live the revolution!” one of them shouted. “Long live Hungary and liberty!” And gradually the cries were taken up, and the shouting swelled until the quay was ringing with it. The men on the ship waved, joining in the cheers. And this time, no one added the previously obligatory “Long live the King.”
Unbidden, a line of Petöfi’s much-reviled poem swam into my mind: ‘There is no beloved king any more...’ Today, I could almost imagine it was true.
* * * *
The next day, Teréz Meleki was ‘at home’. Since it was to be a quiet, select gathering, Elisabeth decided we could go with propriety, despite our mourning state. I was reluctant at first but in common with everyone else in the city, I was restless, so in order to distract my mind I went, dressed all in sombre but stylish black, and in the end I even enjoyed myself, renewing acquaintance with one or two congenial spirits.
The gathering was already beginning to break up when István arrived with Baron Mirányi. I presumed they had come from the Assembly. Their entry was quiet, and in the brilliance of the guests with whom Teréz surrounded herself, they should have been unobtrusive, but something took my eyes straight to them, and my attention was caught and held.
Perhaps it was the gravity of their expressions, contrasting with the witty, brittle light-heartedness of the guests; or perhaps it was the fact that they never spoke to each other or to anyone else. Whatever it was, I was not the only one to sense it.
Conversation died away. For a second, the room was perfectly still. Then silk rustled, sweeping along the floor as Elisabeth went forward to her husband.
“István,” she said, and there was enough dread in her voice to speak for all of us. “What is it? For God’s sake, what has happened?”
István took her hands, but he did not look at her. His eyes went over her head and found his brother, as if in some kind of silent communication I had never seen between them before. But when he spoke, it was quite clearly, and to all of us.
“Jelacic has crossed the Drava with 40,000 men. Hungary is invaded.”
Part Four: War: September 1848 — January 1849
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Buda-Pest was changing again. People were flooding into the city to answer the call to arms. New soldiers were everywhere, until I began to think that we were living in a military camp.
I saw some very odd sights too. The one that sticks most in my mind is of two Imperial soldiers, armed with knives, following each other in circles and hacking off the tails of each other’s frock coats. I was walking with Margit and the children, on the way to buy a new dress for Anna — it was her birthday at the end of the week and Elisabeth had promised her the treat of a dinner party with the adults — but as I stopped to gape at this peculiar spectacle, they drew ahead of me.
“Staggering, isn’t it?” remarked a voice in my ear. I jumped, and looked straight up into the eyes of Lajos Lázár. I had not spoken to him since returning to Pest, and this unexpected meeting threw me off balance. However, the antics of the soldiers soon distracted me again.
“What in the world are they doing?” I asked.
“Cutting the tails off their coats,” said Lajos helpfully, and when I glared at him, added mercifully, “To show that they are no longer Imperial soldiers, but Hungary’s. They have just been persuaded to transfer to the honvéd, our new national defence force, and since there are no uniforms for them yet, this is their way of declaring their allegiance.”
I looked again at the men, who had finally achieved their goal to the amused applause of passers-by.
“Who,” I asked resignedly, “persuaded them?”
“I did,” said Lajos modestly, and drew my attention to a group of tail-less soldiers swaggering about in the square opposite. “In fact, I got several with one shot.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and his lip twitched responsively.
“Is this your new mission?” I enquired.
“Yes; Buda-Pest needs to be defended if the Croats get this far.”
I shivered as reality broke in once more. “Do you think they will?”
“If those idiot generals Batthyány was foolish enough to send against them have their way, then yes. Neither Ottinger nor Teleki will fight Jelacic. They tiptoe up to him and retreat till it’s tantamount to treason, for Jelacic still has no authority from the King. Legally, he is still only a rebellious subject, but our generals seem to regard him as an old comrade.”
“I suppose he is,” I said sadly, thinking of Colonel von Avenheim.
Lajos flicked my cheek with one finger. “Don’t worry. The people will rise and throw the invader back out again.”
I flushed under the careless caress. “You sound very sure.”
“I have faith,” he said flippantly, “in the people. I’m also on my way to stir them up.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We need the peasantry to join the army en masse.”
I smiled grimly. “You’re taking March the fifteenth tactics to the country for a recruiting campaign?”
“It works,” he said confidently, and I thought of Szelényi a year ago, when he had persuaded the peasants to risk their necks in his demonstration. That had not been armed conflict, of course, and they had been his own people he was dealing with, but I had little doubt that he would be just as effective anywhere — especially now that the peasants had something worth fighting to save.
Ahead I could see Margit, standing still and forlorn, looking around her rather wildly while the children danced on the ends of her arms. Quickly, I glanced up at Lajos.
“I must go — they will think I’m lost. Do — will you be gone long?”
“I don’t know. Will you miss me?”
“No,” I said crossly, “but if you help to keep Jelacic away from our door, I suppose I shall be grateful.”
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