Eyes Like the Sea Part 39

"Come, come, Mr. Lieutenant," I said, "pray don't talk so wildly."

"But I mean what I say--I am ready to become a Mohammedan for her sake."

"I can quite believe it."

"Then you will be my witness at the priest's?"

"Pardon me. 'Tis a serious matter. I honour my own religion as much as other sects honour theirs, yet I am no proselytizer. Do you wish to become a Calvinist from sincere conviction?"

At this word he leaped furiously from his seat.

"A Calvinist? Certainly not! Heaven forbid!"

"Then what do you want to be?"

"I want to be a Lutheran."

"'Tis all one."

"The devil it is! We at Leutomischl hold the Calvinists to be infidels."

"Your bride might have told you, I think, that this is not true."

At this, Bessy again intervened. She implored me prettily not to deny her this little kindness. Kvatopil had only consented to be converted because they have crosses in the Lutheran churches and believe in the sacraments, so that by joining them a man does not risk losing his heavenly hopes so much, and the Commander-in-chief would not be down upon him so fiercely as if he were to go over to the Calvinist Kuruczes.[98] The end of it all was that I, a Calvinist presbyter, had to introduce a newly-converted soul into the Lutheran Church.

[Footnote 98: _Kurucz_, a name originally given to the Transylvanian insurgents under Francis Rakoczy; they were mostly Protestants.--TR.]

I really must have been a very good sort of fellow formerly, that is to say, before my heart was hardened.

At last every obstacle was overcome. I consented to give away my ward, Wenceslaus Kvatopil's bride. Bessy received from her excellent mother (who was now a general's wife) intimation that she had withdrawn her sequestration from the money in the Vienna bank; the caution-money was deposited, the boa conscriptors were satisfied, and nothing hindered us from going to church.

The marriage party, besides the bride and bridegroom, consisted of two witnesses; the bridegroom's witness was a battalion commander, a major who brought his wife with him.

And here, perhaps, every one will ask me why the wife of the _other_ witness was not there also?

It is an awkward question.

I might, I know, summarily dispose of the whole matter by saying that my wife had just gone, by special invitation, to act at Szabadka; she had been invited, but could not come. But this answer, I know, is unsatisfactory.

I would, however, first of all, lay down this axiom: "An honourable husband should give his wife _no occasion_ for jealousy; but neither ought he to make her jealous _without occasion_."

The sacred truth is that I had never mentioned Bessy's name in my wife's hearing. ("Slipper-hero!") Did she know of her? I don't know. She was much too proud to have ever shown it if she did.

I had Bessy's portrait, and it was in the drawer of my writing-table. It was there even when I got married. And if it had found its way into any one's hands, I could not have said that it was the portrait of my grandmother. But this is what did happen. When the Russian armies broke into the kingdom, I, foreseeing the end of the unequal struggle, shouldered my musket, tied on my sword, fastened my knapsack round my neck, took leave of my wife, and went forth to seek the camp of Gorgey--on foot. On my way I met Paul Nyary. "Whither away so armed to the teeth, brother Maurice?" said he. "I am going to die for my country," I replied, with tragic pathos. "And what have you got in your knapsack?" "A ham." "Well, before dying for your country, let us have a bit of that ham of yours together." With that he helped me up into his car, and in the car beside him was already sitting Joseph Patay--two members of the Hungary Government at Debreczin, in fact. I was curious enough to inquire whither we were going, whereupon Nyary replied:

"The dog that bolts to Szeged town T'wards Buda lets his tail hang down."[99]

[Footnote 99: Buda and Szeged being in diametrically opposite directions.]

Even with the danger of instant death hanging over his head, his bitter irony never forsook him. So I went on with Nyary to Szeged. A week afterwards my wife followed me. Our house she had entrusted to poor old Dame Kovacs. The clever comic actress had no need to fear the Cossacks.

When, however, the Russians occupied Buda-Pest, and the rigorous order was issued that all arms, uniforms, and Hungarian bank-notes were to be given up, whilst every one in possession of a prohibited object or a revolutionary proclamation was to be tried by court-martial and shot, then indeed the good old dame ransacked all the drawers of my writing-table, and crumpling up into a heap all she found there, including Petofi's correspondence, a letter of Klapka's, the whole of my diary which I had written during the Revolution, with innumerable and invaluable data, pitched the whole behind the fire, and so they disappeared. In this great _auto-da-fe_ Bessy's portrait was also reduced to ashes. I therefore have my suspicions that something was known about it, but nothing was ever said to me on the subject.

So that, you see, was why _only I_ was present at Bessy's wedding.

The rendezvous took place in her apartments. Here I had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of my fellow-witness, the major of dragoons, and a very genial man he was. He was a good copy of a genuine Hungarian lord-lieutenant of a county. Nothing but cordial hilarity and jovial merriment, you would never have taken him for a soldier, least of all for an Austrian soldier. He blackguarded the "Bach[100]-hussars," but had nothing but praise for the Hungarians. He had not been shut up in Temesvar like the lieutenant, but had been fighting in Italy, and had only just come hither. He had the habit of seasoning his discourse with Hungarian proverbs and pithy aphorisms. He introduced his wife to me also. "My domestic dragon," he said; he could not dispense with his jesting even then. The lady, however, clearly did not belong to the dragon species. On the contrary, she was a remarkably pleasant woman, in the prime of life, with really handsome features. One thing I will say of her: when once she began to talk she never knew when to leave off.

Her conversation knew neither rest nor pause. In my eyes, however, this is an advantage, for it is my invariable practice to entertain my lady friends by letting them talk to their hearts' content, while I listen.

[Footnote 100: The reactionary Austrian Minister who was mainly responsible for the attempted denationalization of Hungary.--TR.]

When the bride was still in her boudoir, the major's lady made me thoroughly acquainted with the family affairs of all the officers' wives in the regiment. When the bride appeared in all her bridal glory, accompanied by the bridegroom, who held his helmet in one hand and a gigantic bouquet of camellias in the other, the exchange of notes between the witness of the bridegroom and the witness of the bride took place with all the usual formalities.

Towards me the major acted with the studied courtesy of a high Government official, but towards the lieutenant he acted the part of a senior officer from beginning to end. He ordered him about as if he were sitting on horseback and on the point of setting out for scout duty. And the lieutenant obeyed him like a machine. In fact, the bridegroom quite gave me the impression of a man sitting in his saddle at the head of his squadron. The small arms were beginning to fire, the musket b.a.l.l.s were piping about his ears, the hissing grenades strike the ground in front of him, and he cannot so much as move his head aside till the liberating command sounds: "Forward! March! Draw your swords! On 'em! Cut, slash!"

Stop! What am I saying? Here was no question of cutting and slashing!

No; press her to your breast, rather! Is she not your bride?

Finally, at the word of command, we reached the altar.

It was all over. I had given Bessy away. She was married.

She bore up very gallantly; but then, of course, she had had a deal of practice.

But as for the bridegroom, every one of his movements had to be by order; he was accustomed to have it so. He was so moved indeed that he could scarcely draw off his glove, and would have forced the bride to stand on the right hand, whereas the priest wished her to pa.s.s to the left; and when the ceremony was over, he turned towards his own witness with the expression of a delinquent condemned to death who has now no hope left save in the mercy of the Court of Appeal.

"We have been married with our left hands," he stammered.

His best man rea.s.sured him: "Have no fear of that, my son. 'Tis the usual thing. The bride always stands on the left, but your right hands were duly placed within each other."

"Impossible!"

Worthy Kvatopil did not seem to know which was his right hand and which was his left.

On the way home the happy bride and bridegroom sat together in a little coach.

A splendid banquet awaited the guests in Bessy's lodgings. The table was already spread.

When the happy husband had conducted his darling yoke-fellow into the midst of us, he, without more ado, flung himself on the sofa, and, hiding his face in the palms of both hands, began to weep bitterly.

Such a wonder as that is surely not to be seen for either love or money!

That a bridegroom should weep fit to break his heart immediately after the marriage ceremony, and bewail the loss of his bachelordom in floods of bitter tears!

The two ladies, however, took him in hand between them, and began to entreat and console him, but he could not stifle this outburst of feeling. The major also rea.s.sured him very prettily: "Come, come, my dear friend, you need not take it so tragically. Look at me now! I've been through it all! Look how well I get on with my domestic dragon!"

This, however, was poor balm to him in his great affliction. At last the major fairly lost his temper. "A thousand Turkish skulls! What's this, lieutenant? Do you wish to regale us with a specimen of the higher morality? Bombs and grenades! Embrace your wife, sir, immediately!"

Bessy looked at me as if she were on the point of weeping. I pitied her from the bottom of my heart.

"Mr. Lieutenant," I said, "have you ever learnt English?"

The newly-married husband was amazed.

"Yes," said he.