The Baron's Sons Part 37

A POSTHUMOUS MESSAGE.

In the rainy autumn days the Baradlay family removed from Koros Island to Nemes...o...b.. The latter was no longer a hospital: the patients had been elsewhere provided for, and all traces of war and bloodshed had disappeared.

One evening, when the little family was gathered about the lamp, the door opened and a guest entered unannounced. It was a guest not wont to stand on ceremony, a guest whose right it was to enter any house at any time, whether its inmates were at table, at prayers, or whatever they might be doing. His uniform--that of the imperial police--was his pa.s.sport. He raised his hand to his cap in military salute.

"Pardon me for disturbing you at so late an hour," said he in German; "but I bring a despatch from Pest directed to Baron Edmund von Baradlay."

So the fatal summons had come at last!

odon took a lamp from the table. "That is my name," said he, calmly.

"Will you please come with me to my room?"

"Excuse me; I have also letters for the two ladies,--the dowager Baroness Casimir von Baradlay and the young Baroness von Baradlay."

The messenger took from his pocketbook the three letters, and delivered them according to the addresses they bore. "I will await your pleasure in the anteroom," said he, as he saluted and withdrew.

All three looked at their letters with pale faces, as one scrutinises a missive he fears to open and read. Each of the letters bore the government seal, and was addressed in the clear, caligraphic hand of an office clerk.

Each contained, in the same caligraphic handwriting, the following:

"It is my duty to forward to you the enclosed communication, which has been officially examined by me, and found to contain no objectionable matter."

Then followed an illegible scrawl as signature. The "enclosed communication" proved in each case to be a letter from Jeno. odon's ran as follows:

"DEAR EDMUND:--To-day I bring to its fulfilment that for which I have lived. I die for the cause I have embraced. Be not bowed down with sadness at my fate; I go to meet it with head erect. I leave you my blessing, and take my faith with me. The blood we shed will moisten no thankless soil: from it will spring golden harvests for our fatherland and for humanity. You who survive will rear again the structure that now falls in ruins over our heads. Sooner or later the helm of the ship of state will come into your hands. I die with entire submission to the decrees of destiny. Dry Aranka's tears; kiss for me little Bela and the baby, and when they ask whither I have gone, say I am in your heart. For yourself, never lose courage; live for our family and our country, which may G.o.d prosper for ages to come!

Your brother, "EUGEN."

The parting message to Aranka was thus conceived:

"MY DEAR, MY BELOVED ARANKA:--Your n.o.ble words still ring in my ears,--'Do what your heart bids you.' I have done it. Forgive me for causing you pain by my death. I would have you, while you weep for me, still be comforted. Do not sadden your little ones by showing them a sorrowful face. You know how quickly sadness in you affects them, and how you are thus in danger of blighting the joy of their innocent young lives. Be good to my mother and brothers; they will care for you.

Veil the little portrait for awhile, that it may not too often bring to mind sad thoughts of the past. I will spare you the pain of reading more. I would leave you in such a way that you may not be bowed down with grief at my going. I send you a kiss through the air; it will reach you from the heavens above. May G.o.d keep you for ever. Even in death,

"Your ever loving "EUGEN."

To his mother the young man sent the following message:

"MY DEAR, MY ADORED MOTHER:--The words with which I parted from you I now repeat once more,--I love you.

You no longer fear that Aranka's little ones will come to want, do you? Heaven has ordered all things well,--both for him who dies, and for those that are left behind. You have a strong nature, an exalted soul, and I need not leave you any strength of mine. The mother of the Gracchi received into her arms her murdered sons, and wept not. For those that die a glorious death their mothers need shed no tears,--so you have told us. Therefore, do not mourn. With true Christian submission say, 'Father, thy will be done!'

And bear no one any malice because of my death; forgive even her who by her accusation has driven me to an early grave, and do not let her know how much good she has really done by her criminal act. She has made death easy for me, and I thank her. I die at peace with all the world, and I trust that no one harbours any ill will against me. An hour more, and I shall have joined my father up yonder. Of us three boys, you both showed me the greatest affection. When I was small and you used to fall out with each other, I was often the means of effecting a reconciliation. Now once more that shall be my mission. They are calling me. May G.o.d preserve you, dear mother.

Your loving son, "EUGEN."

Only a subdued sobbing was heard as they read their letters and exchanged them. In the next room was a stranger who must not hear any loud lamentation. But why did he linger? Who was to go and ask him?

The widow was the first to recover her composure. She dried her tears and rose. "Check your grief for a moment," said she to the other two, and then she went to the door and bade the messenger enter. "Have you any further communication for us?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, drawing a small package from his breast pocket, and delivering it to the baroness.

She opened it. It contained a blue silk waistcoat which Aranka had embroidered with lilies of the valley and pansies. In the midst of the embroidered flowers were three holes, each as large as a rifle ball, singed and blood-stained at the edges. The embroidery and the bullet-holes explained all.

The government emissary uttered no word, but for a moment, while the packet was being opened, he removed his cap. The baroness forced herself to bear up yet a little longer. With a firm step she went to a cupboard; returning, she handed the man a gold coin. He murmured a "thank you" and something about G.o.d's blessing; then he saluted and withdrew.

The necessity of restraint being removed, the grief-stricken family were at liberty to moisten the dear memento with their tears and pay their loving tribute to the n.o.ble martyr's memory.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE PRISON TELEGRAPH.

But had Jeno held no communication with his brother Richard before his death? Yes; Richard was a prisoner in the same building, and it was fitted with a telegraph which communicated with all the cells and was never idle. It could not be silenced; the prisoners could not be prevented from making use of it at all hours of the day and night. It consisted simply of the prison walls.

No wall is so thick that a knocking on one side cannot be heard on the other. One rap stood for A, two for B, three for C, and so on through the alphabet. The rapping went on continually all over the building, and each new prisoner learned its meaning on the very day of his arrival, and became a telegraph operator himself. A message sent out from one cell was pa.s.sed along until it reached its destination, when an answer was returned by the same route.

On the day which was destined to be Jeno's last on earth, the following questions and answers pa.s.sed from cell to cell.

"What news?"

"Death sentence."

"Who?"

"Baradlay."

"Which one?"

"The oldest."

Through Richard's cell, too, pa.s.sed this cryptogram, and he asked again:

"First name?"

But the only reply he could elicit was a repet.i.tion of the above: "The oldest."

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

A HEADACHE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

The governor plenipotentiary was suffering with a splitting headache, which at times made him inclined to believe that all the bullets he had sent through his victims' heads were holding a rendezvous in his own. On such occasions it was dangerous to approach the great man. In the frenzy of his pain he was wont to rage even against those he loved best, and to find fault with all who were under his authority, as if determined to make others feel some small fraction of the discomfort he was forced to endure. To ask a favour of him in such moments, or even to demand simple justice, was worse than useless. Did he find favour with his torturer, he wanted to know, or was there any justice in his undeserved suffering?

This was the sort of man that was set as judge over a vanquished people.