The Nameless Castle

by Maurus Jokai

  “For heaven’s sake! What a preamble!” ejaculated the count. “But go on. The first minute?”

  “Yes; the first minute a stoppage occurred caused by the escapement objecting to furnish canteens; if the militiamen wanted canteens they must provide them themselves.”

  “I trust the clock was not allowed to stop for want of a few canteens,” ironically observed Count Vavel.

  “Moreover,” continued the vice-palatine, not heeding the interruption, “the escapement gave them to understand that brass drums could not be furnished—only wooden ones—”

  “They will do their duty, too, if properly handled,” again interpolated Vavel.

  “A more disastrous check, however, was the decision of the Komitate that the uniform was to consist of red trousers and light-blue dolman—”

  “A picturesque uniform, at any rate!”

  “There was a good deal of argument about it; but at last it was decided that the companies from the Danube should adopt light-blue dolmans, and those from the Theiss dark-blue.”

  “Thank heaven something was decided!”

  “Don’t be too premature with your thanks, Herr Count! The escapement would not consent to the red trousers; red dye-stuff was not to be had, because of the continental embargo. The militia must content itself with trousers made of the coarse white cloth of which peasants’ cloaks are made. You can imagine what a tempest that raised in the various counties! To offer Hungarian nobles trousers made of such stuff! At last the matter was arranged: trousers and dolman were to be made of the same material. The Komitate were satisfied with this. But the escapement then said there were not enough tailors to make so many uniforms. The government would supply the cloth, and have it cut, and the militiamen could have it made up at home.”

  “That certainly would make the uniform of more value to the wearer!”

  “Would have made, Herr Count; would have made! The escapement suddenly announced that the cloth could not be purchased; for, while the dispute about the colors of the uniform had been going on, the greedy merchants had advanced the price of all cloths to such an exorbitant figure that the government couldn’t afford to buy it.”

  “To the cuckoo with your escapement! The men have got to have uniforms!”

  “Beg pardon; don’t begin yet to waste expletives, else you will not have any left at the end of the hour! The counties then agreed to pay the sum advanced on the original price of the cloth, whereupon the escapement said the money would have to be forthcoming at once, as the cloth could not be bought on credit.”

  “Well, is there no treasury which could supply enough funds for this worthy object?” asked the count.

  “Yes; there is the public treasury for current expenses. But the treasurer will not give any money to the militia until they are mounted and equipped; the escapement will not furnish the cloth for the uniforms without the money; and the treasury will not give any money until the militia has its uniforms!”

  “Well, a man can fight without a uniform. If only these men have horses under them and weapons in their hands—”

  “Two of these requisites we already have; but the escapement announces that arms of the latest improvements cannot be furnished, because the government has not got them.”

  “Well, the old ones will answer.”

  “They would if we had enough flints; but they are not to be had, because the insurrectionary Poles have captured the flint depot in Lemberg.”

  “Each man certainly could get a flint for himself.”

  “Even then there are only enough guns for about one half of the men. The escapement suggested that to those who had no arms it would furnish—halberds!”

  “What? Halberds!” cried Vavel, losing all patience. “Halberds against Bonaparte? Halberds against the legions who have broken a path from one end of Europe to the other with their bayonets, and with them carved their triumphs on the pyramids? Halberds against them? Do you take me to be a fool, Herr Vice-palatine?”

  He sprang to his feet and began to pace the floor excitedly, his guest meanwhile eying him with a roguish glance.

  “There!” at last exclaimed Herr Bernat, “I will not tease you any longer. Fortunately, there is a clock-repairer who, so soon as he perceived how tardily the hands performed their task, with his finger twirled them around the entire dial, whereupon the clock struck the hour. This able repairer is our king, who at once advanced from his own exchequer enough money to equip the militia companies, distributed six thousand first-class cavalry sabers and sixteen cannon, and loaned the entire Hungarian life-guard to drill the newly formed regiments. And now, I will wager that our noble militia host will be ready for the field in less than thirty days, and that they will fight as well as the good Lord permitted them to learn how!”

  “Why in the world did you not tell me this at once?” demanded Count Vavel.

  “Because it is not customary to put the fire underneath the tobacco in the pipe! The king’s example inspired our magnates. Those whom the law compelled to equip ten horsemen sent out whole companies, and placed themselves in command.”

  “As I shall do!” appended Count Vavel. “I hope, Herr Vice-palatine, that you will not forget the amnesty for Satan Laczi and his men. They will be of special value as spies.”

  “I have a knot in my handkerchief for that, Herr Count, and shall be sure to remember. The company to be commanded by Count Ludwig Fertöszeg will be complete in a week.”

  “Why do you call me Fertöszeg?”

  “Because a Hungarian name is better for your ensign than your own foreign one. Our people have an antipathy to everything foreign—and we have cause to complain of the Frenchmen who served in our army. Most of them were spies—tools of Napoleon’s. Generals Moiselle and Lefebre surrendered fortified Laibach, together with its entire brigade, without discharging a gun. And even our quondam friend, the gallant Colonel Barthelmy, has taken Dutch leave and gone back to the enemy.”

  “What? Gone back to the enemy!” repeated Ludwig, springing from his chair, and laughing delightedly.

  “The news seems to rejoice you,” observed Herr Bernat.

  “I shout for very joy! The thought that we might have to fight side by side annoyed me. Now, however, we shall be adversaries, and when we meet, the man who did not steal Ange Barthelmy will send her husband to the devil! And now, Herr Vice-palatine, I think it is time to say good night. It will be the first night in six years that I shall sleep quietly.”

  They shook hands, and separated for the night.

  CHAPTER II

  From early morning until evening the enrolment of names went on at the Nameless Castle, while from time to time a squad of volunteers, accompanied by Count Vavel himself, would depart amid the blare of trumpets for the drill-ground.

  The count made a fine-looking officer, with the crimson shako on his head, his mantle flung over one shoulder, his saber in his hand. When he saluted the ladies on their balconies, his spirited horse would rear and dance proudly. His company, the “Volons,” had selected black and crimson as the colors for their uniform. The shako was ornamented in front with a white death’s-head, and one would not have believed that a skull could be so ornamental.

  The Volons’ ensign was not yet finished, but pretty white hands were embroidering gold letters on the silken streamers; lead would very soon add further ornamentation!

  When Ludwig Vavel opened the door of his castle to the public, he very soon became acquainted with a very different life from that of the past six years. For six years he had dwelt among a people whom he imagined he had learned to know and understand through his telescope, and from the letters he had received from a clergyman and a young law student.

  The reality was quite different.

  Every man that was enrolled in his volunteer corps Count Vavel made an object of special study. He found among them many interesting characters, who would have deserved perpetuation, and made of all of them excellent soldiers. The men very soon became devoted to their lea
der. When the troop was complete—three hundred horsemen in handsome uniforms, on spirited horses—their ensign was ready for them. Marie thought it would have been only proper for Katharina, the betrothed of the leader, to present the flag; but Count Vavel insisted that Marie must perform the duty. The flag was hers; it would wave over the men who were going to fight for her cause.

  It was an inspiriting sight—three hundred horsemen, every one of noble Hungarian blood. There were among them fathers of families, and brothers; and all of them soldiers of their own free will. Of such material was the troop of Volons, commanded by “Count Vavel von Fertöszeg.”

  Count Vavel had a second volunteer company, composed of Satan Laczi and his comrades. This company, however, had been formed and drilled in secret, as the noble Volons would not have tolerated such vagabonds in their ranks. There were only twenty-four men in Satan Laczi’s squad, and they were expected to undertake only the most hazardous missions of the campaign.

  Ah, how Marie’s hand trembled when she knotted the gay streamers to the flag Ludwig held in his hands! She whispered, in a tone so low that only he could hear what she said:

  “Don’t go away, Ludwig! Stay here with us. Don’t waste your precious blood for me, but let us three fly far away from here.”

  Those standing apart from the count and his fair ward fancied that the whispered words were a blessing on the ensign. She did not bless it in words, but when she saw that Ludwig would not renounce his undertaking, she pressed her lips to the standard which bore the patrona Hungaria. That was her blessing! Then she turned and flung herself into Katharina’s arms, sobbing, while hearty cheers rose from the Volons:

  “Why don’t you try to prevent him from going away from us? Why don’t you say to him, ‘tomorrow we are to be wedded. Why not wait until then?’ ”

  But there was no time now to think of marriage. There was one who was in greater haste than any bridegroom or bride. The great leader of armies was striding onward, whole kingdoms between his paces. From the slaughter at Ebersburg he passed at once to the walls of Vienna, to the square in front of the Cathedral of St. Stephen. From the south, also, came Job’s messengers, thick and fast. Archduke John had retreated from Italy back into Hungary, the viceroy Eugene following on his heels.

  General Chasteler had become alarmed at Napoleon’s proclamation threatening him with death, and had removed his entire army from the Tyrol. His divisions were surrendering, one after another, to the pursuing foe.

  Thus the border on the south and west was open to the enemy; and to augment the peril which threatened Hungary, Poland menaced her from the north, from the Carpathians; and Russia at the same time sent out declarations of war.

  The countries which had been on friendly terms with one another suddenly became enemies—Poland against Hungary, Russia against Austria. Prussia waited. England hastened to seize an island from Holland. The patriotic calls of Gentz and Schlegel failed to inspire Germany. The heroic attempts of Kalt, Dörnberg, Schill, and Lützow fell resultless on the indifference of the people. Only Turkey remained a faithful ally, and the assurance that the Mussulman would protect Hungary in the rear against an invasion on the part of Moldavia was the only ray of light amid the darkness of those days.

  Then came a fresh Job’s messenger.

  General Jelachich, with his five thousand men, had laid down his arms in the open field before the enemy. Now, indeed, it might be said: “The time is come to be up and doing, Hungary!”

  He who had neglected to celebrate his nuptials yesterday would have no time for marriage feasts tomorrow. Hannibal was at the gates! The noble militia host was set in motion. The Veszprime and Pest regiments moved toward the Marczal to join Archduke John’s forces. The primatial troops joined the main body of the army on the banks of the March, and what there was of soldiery on the farther side of the Danube hastened to concentrate in the neighborhood of the Raab—only half equipped, muskets without flints, without cartridges, without saddles, with halters in lieu of bridles!

  Under such circumstances a fully equipped troop like that commanded by “Count Fertöszeg,” with sabers, pistols, carbines, and a leader trained in the battle-field, was of some value.

  The days which followed the flag presentation were certainly not calculated to whispers of happy love, while the nights were illumined only by the light of watch-fires, and the glare over against the horizon of cannonading. Count Ludwig had so many demands on his time that he rarely found a few minutes free to visit his dear ones at the manor. Sometimes he came unexpectedly early in the morning, and sometimes late in the evening. And always, when he came, like the insurgent who dashes unceremoniously into your door, there was a confusion and a bustling to conceal what he was not yet to see—Marie’s first attempts at drawing, her piano practices, or the miniature portrait Katharina was painting of her. Sometimes, too, he came when they were at a meal; and then, despite his protests that he had already dined or supped in camp, he would be compelled to take his seat between the two ladies at the table. Hardly would he have taken up his fork, however, when a messenger would arrive in great haste to summon him for something or other—some question he alone could decide; then all attempts to detain him would prove futile.

  The day he received his orders to march, he was forced to take enough time to speak on some very important matters to his betrothed wife. He delivered into her hands the steel casket, of which so much has been written. When he entered the room where the two ladies were sitting, Marie discreetly rose and left the lovers alone; but she did not go very far: she knew that she would be sent for very soon. Why should she stop to hear the exchange of lovers’ confidences, hear the mutual confessions which made them so happy? She did not want to see the tears which he would kiss away.

  “May God protect you,” sobbed Katharina, reflecting at the same moment that it would be a great pity were a bullet to strike the spot on the noble brow where she pressed her farewell kiss.

  “You will guard my treasure, Katharina? Take good care of my palladium and of yourself. Before I go, let me show you what this casket which you must guard with unceasing care contains.”

  He drew the steel ring from his thumb, and pushed to one side the crown which formed the seal, whereupon a tiny key was revealed. With it he unlocked the casket.

  On top lay a packet of English bank-notes of ten thousand pounds each.

  “This sum,” explained Ludwig, “will defray the expenses of our undertaking. When I shall have attained my object, I shall be just so much the poorer. I am not a rich man, Katharina; I must tell you this before our marriage.”

  “I should love you even were you a beggar,” was the sincere response.

  A kiss was her reward.

  Underneath the bank-notes were several articles of child’s clothing, such as little girls wear.

  “Her mother embroidered the three lilies on these with her own hands,” said Ludwig, laying the little garments to one side. Then he took from the casket several time-stained documents, and added: “These are the certificate of baptism, the last lines from the mother to her daughter, and the deposition of the two men who witnessed the exchange of the children. This,” taking up a miniature-case, “contains a likeness of Marie, and one of the other little girl who exchanged destinies with her. The Marquis d’Avoncourt, who is now a prisoner in the Castle of Ham,—if he is still alive!—is the only one besides ourselves who knows of the existence of these things. And now, Katharina, let me beg of you to take good care of them; no matter what happens, do not lose sight of this casket.”

  He locked the casket, and returned the ring to his thumb.

  The baroness placed the treasure intrusted to her care in a secret cupboard in the wall of her own room.

  And now, one more kiss!

  The girl waiting in the adjoining room was doubtless getting weary. Suddenly Ludwig heard the tones of a piano. Some one was playing, in the timid, uncertain manner of a new beginner, Miska’s martial song. Ludwig listened, and turned q
uestioningly toward his betrothed. Katharina did not speak; she merely smiled, and walked toward the door of the adjoining room, which she opened.

  Marie sprang from the piano toward Ludwig, who caught her in his arms and rewarded her for the surprise. And thus it happened that Marie, after all, was the one to receive Ludwig’s last kiss of farewell.

  CHAPTER III

  The camp on the bank of the Rabcza was shared by the troop from Fertöszeg and by a militia company of infantry from Wieselburg.

  The parole had been given out for the night. Count Vavel had completed his round of the outposts, and had returned to the officers’ tent. Here he found awaiting him two old acquaintances—the vice-palatine and the young attorney from Pest, each of them wearing the light-blue dolman.

  The youthful attorney, whose letters to the count had voiced the national discontent, had at once girded on his sword when the call to arms had sounded throughout the land, and was now of one mind with his quondam patron: if he got near enough to a Frenchman to strike him, the result would certainly be disastrous—for the Frenchman. Bernat bácsi also found himself at last in his element, with ample time and opportunity for anecdotes. Seated on a clump of sod the root side up, with both hands clasping the hilt of his sword, the point of which rested on the ground, he repeated what he had heard from the palatine’s own lips, while dining with that exalted personage in the camp by the Raab.

  At a very interesting point in his recital he was unceremoniously interrupted by the challenging call of the outposts:

  “Halt! who comes there?”

  Vavel hastened from the tent, flung himself on his horse, and galloped in the direction of the call. The patrol had stopped an armed man who would not give the password, but insisted that he had a right to enter the camp.