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diff --git a/3927.txt b/3927.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7079ca1 --- /dev/null +++ b/3927.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3041 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Prince Zilah, by Jules Claretie, v1 +#14 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy +#1 in our series by Jules Claretie + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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In fact, he has written, since early +youth, romances, drama, history, novels, tales, chronicles, dramatic +criticism, literary criticism, military correspondence, virtually +everything! He was elected to the French Academy in 1888. + +Claretie was educated at the Lycee Bonaparte, and was destined for a +commercial career. He entered a business-house as bookkeeper, but was at +the same time contributing already to newspapers and reviews. In 1862 we +find him writing for the Diogene; under the pseudonym, "Olivier de +Jalin," he sends articles to La France; his nom-deplume in L'Illustration +is "Perdican"; he also contributes to the Figaro, 'L'Independence Belge, +Opinion Nationale' (1867-1872); he signs articles in the 'Rappel; as +"Candide"; in short, his fecundity in this field of literature is very +great. He is today a most popular journalist and writes for the 'Presse, +Petit Journal, Temps', and others. He has not succeeded as a politician. +Under the second Empire he was often in collision with the Government; in +1857 he was sentenced to pay a fine of 1,000 francs, which was a splendid +investment; more than once lectures to be given by him were prohibited +(1865-1868); in 1871 he was an unsuccessful candidate for L'Assemblee +Nationale, both for La Haute Vienne and La Seine. Since that time he has +not taken any active part in politics. Perhaps we should also mention +that as a friend of Victor Noir he was called as a witness in the process +against Peter Bonaparte; and that as administrator of the Comedie +Francaise he directed, in 1899, an open letter to the "President and +Members of the Court Martial trying Captain Dreyfus" at Rennes, +advocating the latter's acquittal. So much about Claretie as a +politician! + +The number of volumes and essays written by Jules Claretie surpasses +imagination, and it is, therefore, almost impossible to give a complete +list. As a historian he has selected mostly revolutionary subjects. The +titles of some of his prominent works in this field are 'Les Derniers +Montagnards (1867); Histoire de la Revolution de 1870-71 (second edition, +1875, 5 vols.); La France Envahie (1871); Le Champ de Bataille de Sedan +(1871); Paris assiege and Les Prussiens chez eux (1872); Cinq Ans apres, +L'Alsace et la Lorraine depuis l'Annexion (1876); La Guerre Nationale +1870-1871', etc., most of them in the hostile, anti-German vein, natural +to a "Chauvinist"; 'Ruines et Fantomes (1873). Les Femmes de la +Revolution (1898)' contains a great number of portraits, studies, and +criticisms, partly belonging to political, partly to literary, history. +To the same category belong: Moliere, sa Vie et ses OEuvres (1873); +Peintres et Sculpteurs Contemporains, and T. B. Carpeaux (1875); L'Art et +les Artistes Contemporains (1876)', and others. Quite different from the +above, and in another phase of thought, are: 'Voyages d'un Parisien +(1865); Journees de Voyage en Espagne et France (1870); Journees de +Vacances (1887)'; and others. + +It is, however, as a novelist that the fame of Claretie will endure. He +has followed the footsteps of George Sand and of Balzac. He belongs to +the school of "Impressionists," and, although he has a liking for +exceptional situations, wherefrom humanity does not always issue without +serious blotches, he yet is free from pessimism. He has no nervous +disorder, no "brain fag," he is no pagan, not even a nonbeliever, and has +happily preserved his wholesomeness of thought; he is averse to exotic +ideas, extravagant depiction, and inflammatory language. His novels and +tales contain the essential qualities which attract and retain the +reader. Some of his works in chronological order, omitting two or three +novels, written when only twenty or twenty-one years old, are: +'Pierrille, Histoire de Village (1863); Mademoiselle Cachemire (1867); +Un Assassin, also known under the title Robert Burat (1867); Madeleine +Bertin, replete with moderated sentiment, tender passion, and exquisite +scenes of social life (1868); Les Muscadins (1874, 2 vols.); Le Train No. +17 (1877); La Maison Vide (1878); Le Troisieme dessous (1879); La +Maitresse (1880); Monsieur le Ministre (1882); Moeurs du Jour (1883); Le +Prince Zilah (1884), crowned by the Academy four years before he was +elected; Candidat!(1887); Puyjoli (1890); L'Americaine (1892); La +Frontiere (1894); Mariage Manque (1894); Divette (1896); L'Accusateur +(1897), and others. + +It is, perhaps, interesting to know that after the flight of the Imperial +family from the Tuileries, Jules Claretie was appointed to put into order +the various papers, documents, and letters left behind in great chaos, +and to publish them, if advisable. + +Very numerous and brilliant have also been the incursions of Jules +Claretie into the theatrical domain, though he is a better novelist than +playwright. He was appointed director of the Comedie Francaise in 1885. +His best known dramas and comedies are: 'La Famille de Gueux, in +collaboration with Della Gattina (Ambigu, 1869); Raymond Lindey (Menus +Plaisirs, 1869, forbidden for some time by French censorship); Les +Muscadins (Theatre Historique, 1874); Un Pyre (with Adrien Decourcelle, +Gymnase, 1874); Le Regiment de Champagne (Theatre Historique, 1877); +Monsieur le Ministre, together with Dumas fils and Busnach (Gymnase, +1883); and Prince Zilah (Gymnase, 1885). + +Some of them, as will be noticed, are adapted to the stage from his +novels. In Le Regiment de Champagne, at least, he has written a little +melodramatically. But thanks to the battles, fumes of powder, muskets, +and cannons upon the stage the descendants of Jean Chauvin accept it with +frenetic applause. In most of the plays, however, he exhibits a rather +nervous talent, rich imagination, and uses very scintillating and +picturesque language, if he is inclined to do so--and he is very often +inclined. He received the "Prix Vitet" in 1879 from the Academy for Le +Drapeau. Despite our unlimited admiration for Claretie the journalist, +Claretie the historian, Claretie the dramatist, and Claretie the art- +critic, we think his novels conserve a precious and inexhaustible mine +for the Faguets and Lansons of the twentieth century, who, while +frequently utilizing him for the exemplification of the art of fiction, +will salute him as "Le Roi de la Romance." + + COMPTE D'HAUSSONVILLE + de L'Academie Francaise. + + + +PRINCE ZILAH + +BOOK 1. + + +CHAPTER I + +THE BETROTHAL FETE + +"Excuse me, Monsieur, but pray tell me what vessel that is over there." + +The question was addressed to a small, dark man, who, leaning upon the +parapet of the Quai des Tuileries, was rapidly writing in a note-book +with a large combination pencil, containing a knife, a pen, spare leads, +and a paper-cutter--all the paraphernalia of a reporter accustomed to the +expeditions of itinerant journalism. + +When he had filled, in his running hand, a leaf of the book, the little +man tore it hastily off, and extended it to a boy in dark blue livery +with silver buttons, bearing the initial of the newspaper, L'Actualite; +and then, still continuing to write, he replied: + +"Prince Andras Zilah is giving a fete on board one of the boats belonging +to the Compagnie de la Seine." + +"A fete? Why?" + +"To celebrate his approaching marriage, Monsieur." + +"Prince Andras! Ah!" said the first speaker, as if he knew the name +well; "Prince Andras is to be married, is he? And who does Prince Andras +Zil--" + +"Zilah! He is a Hungarian, Monsieur." + +The reporter appeared to be in a hurry, and, handing another leaf to the +boy, he said: + +"Wait here a moment. I am going on board, and I will send you the rest +of the list of guests by a sailor. They can prepare the article from +what you have, and set it up in advance, and I will come myself to the +office this evening and make the necessary additions." + +"Very well, Monsieur Jacquemin." + +"And don't lose any of the leaves." + +"Oh, Monsieur Jacquemin! I never lose anything!" + +"They will have some difficulty, perhaps, in reading the names--they are +all queer; but I shall correct the proof myself." + +"Then, Monsieur," asked the lounger again, eager to obtain all the +information he could, "those people who are going on board are almost all +foreigners?" + +"Yes, Monsieur; yes, Monsieur; yes, Monsieur!" responded jacquemin, +visibly annoyed. "There are many foreigners in the city, very many; and +I prefer them, myself, to the provincials of Paris." + +The other did not seem to understand; but he smiled, thanked the +reporter, and strolled away from the parapet, telling all the people he +met: "It is a fete! Prince Andras, a Hungarian, is about to be married. +Prince Andras Zilah! A fete on board a steamer! What a droll idea!" + +Others, equally curious, leaned over the Quai des Tuileries and watched +the steamer, whose tricolor flag at the stern, and red streamers at the +mastheads, floated with gay flutterings in the fresh morning breeze. The +boat was ready to start, its decks were waxed, its benches covered with +brilliant stuffs, and great masses of azaleas and roses gave it the +appearance of a garden or conservatory. There was something highly +attractive to the loungers on the quay in the gayly decorated steamer, +sending forth long puffs of white smoke along the bank. A band of dark- +complexioned musicians, clad in red trousers, black waistcoats heavily +embroidered in sombre colors, and round fur caps, played odd airs upon +the deck; while bevies of laughing women, almost all pretty in their +light summer gowns, alighted from coupes and barouches, descended the +flight of steps leading to the river, and crossed the plank to the boat, +with little coquettish graces and studied raising of the skirts, allowing +ravishing glimpses of pretty feet and ankles. The defile of merry, witty +Parisiennes, with their attendant cavaliers, while the orchestra played +the passionate notes of the Hungarian czardas, resembled some vision of a +painter, some embarkation for the dreamed-of Cythera, realized by the +fancy of an artist, a poet, or a great lord, here in nineteenth century +Paris, close to the bridge, across which streamed, like a living +antithesis, the realism of crowded cabs, full omnibuses, and hurrying +foot-passengers. + +Prince Andras Zilah had invited his friends, this July morning, to a +breakfast in the open air, before the moving panorama of the banks of the +Seine. + +Very well known in Parisian society, which he had sought eagerly with an +evident desire to be diverted, like a man who wishes to forget, the +former defender of Hungarian independence, the son of old Prince Zilah +Sandor, who was the last, in 1849, to hold erect the tattered standard of +his country, had been prodigal of his invitations, summoning to his side +his few intimate friends, the sharers of his solitude and his privacy, +and also the greater part of those chance fugitive acquaintances which +the life of Paris inevitably gives, and which are blown away as lightly +as they appeared, in a breath of air or a whirlwind. + +Count Yanski Varhely, the oldest, strongest, and most devoted friend of +all those who surrounded the Prince, knew very well why this fanciful +idea had come to Andras. At forty-four, the Prince was bidding farewell +to his bachelor life: it was no folly, and Yanski saw with delight that +the ancient race of the Zilahs, from time immemorial servants of +patriotism and the right, was not to be extinct with Prince Andras. +Hungary, whose future seemed brightening; needed the Zilahs in the future +as she had needed them in the past. + +"I have only one objection to make to this marriage," said Varhely; "it +should have taken place sooner." But a man can not command his heart to +love at a given hour. When very young, Andras Zilah had cared for +scarcely anything but his country; and, far from her, in the bitterness +of exile, he had returned to the passion of his youth, living in Paris +only upon memories of his Hungary. He had allowed year after year to +roll by, without thinking of establishing a home of his own by marriage. +A little late, but with heart still warm, his spirit young and ardent, +and his body strengthened rather than worn out by life, Prince Andras +gave to a woman's keeping his whole being, his soul with his name, the +one as great as the other. He was about to marry a girl of his own +choice, whom he loved romantically; and he wished to give a surrounding +of poetic gayety to this farewell to the past, this greeting to the +future. The men of his race, in days gone by, had always displayed a +gorgeous, almost Oriental originality: the generous eccentricities of one +of Prince Andras's ancestors, the old Magyar Zilah, were often cited; he +it was who made this answer to his stewards, when, figures in hand, they +proved to him, that, if he would farm out to some English or German +company the cultivation of his wheat, corn, and oats, he would increase +his revenue by about six hundred thousand francs a year: + +"But shall I make these six hundred thousand francs from the nourishment +of our laborers, farmers, sowers, and gleaners? No, certainly not; I +would no more take that money from the poor fellows than I would take the +scattered grains from the birds of the air." + +It was also this grandfather of Andras, Prince Zilah Ferency, who, when +he had lost at cards the wages of two hundred masons for an entire year, +employed these men in constructing chateaux, which he burned down at the +end of the year to give himself the enjoyment of fireworks upon +picturesque ruins. + +The fortune of the Zilahs was then on a par with the almost fabulous, +incalculable wealth of the Esterhazys and Batthyanyis. Prince Paul +Esterhazy alone possessed three hundred and fifty square leagues of +territory in Hungary. The Zichys, the Karolyis and the Szchenyis, +poorer, had but two hundred at this time, when only six hundred families +were proprietors of six thousand acres of Hungarian soil, the nobles of +Great Britain possessing not more than five thousand in England. The +Prince of Lichtenstein entertained for a week the Emperor of Austria, his +staff and his army. Old Ferency Zilah would have done as much if he had +not always cherished a profound, glowing, militant hatred of Austria: +never had the family of the magnate submitted to Germany, become the +master, any more than it had bent the knee in former times to the +conquering Turk. + +From his ancestors Prince Andras inherited, therefore, superb liberality, +with a fortune greatly diminished by all sorts of losses and misfortunes +--half of it confiscated by Austria in 1849, and enormous sums expended +for the national cause, Hungarian emigrants and proscribed compatriots. +Zilah nevertheless remained very rich, and was an imposing figure in +Paris, where, some years before, after long journeyings, he had taken up +his abode. + +The little fete given for his friends on board the Parisian steamer was a +trifling matter to the descendant of the magnificent Magyars; but still +there was a certain charm about the affair, and it was a pleasure for the +Prince to see upon the garden-like deck the amusing, frivolous, elegant +society, which was the one he mingled with, but which he towered above +from the height of his great intelligence, his conscience, and his +convictions. It was a mixed and bizarre society, of different +nationalities; an assemblage of exotic personages, such as are met with +only in Paris in certain peculiar places where aristocracy touches +Bohemianism, and nobles mingle with quasi-adventurers; a kaleidoscopic +society, grafting its vices upon Parisian follies, coming to inhale the +aroma and absorb the poison of Paris, adding thereto strange +intoxications, and forming, in the immense agglomeration of the old +French city, a sort of peculiar syndicate, an odd colony, which belongs +to Paris, but which, however, has nothing of Paris about it except its +eccentricities, which drive post-haste through life, fill the little +journals with its great follies, is found and found again wherever Paris +overflows--at Dieppe, Trouville, Vichy, Cauteret, upon the sands of +Etretat, under the orange-trees of Nice, or about the gaming tables of +Monaco, according to the hour, season, and fashion. + +This was the sort of assemblage which, powdered, perfumed, exquisitely +dressed, invaded, with gay laughter and nervous desire to be amused, the +boat chartered by the Prince. Above, pencil in hand, the little dark man +with the keen eyes, black, pointed beard and waxed moustache, continued +to take down, as the cortege defiled before him, the list of the invited +guests: and upon the leaves fell, briskly traced, names printed a hundred +times a day in Parisian chronicles among the reports of the races of +first representations at the theatres; names with Slav, Latin, or Saxon +terminations; Italian names, Spanish, Hungarian, American names; each of +which represented fortune, glory, power, sometimes scandal--one of those +imported scandals which break out in Paris as the trichinae of foreign +goods are hatched there. + +The reporter wrote on, wrote ever, tearing off and handing to the page +attached to 'L'Actualite' the last leaves of his list, whereon figured +Yankee generals of the War of the Rebellion, Italian princesses, American +girls flirting with everything that wore trousers; ladies who, rivals of +Prince Zilah in wealth, owned whole counties somewhere in England; great +Cuban lords, compromised in the latest insurrections and condemned to +death in Spain; Peruvian statesmen, publicists, and military chiefs at +once, masters of the tongue, the pen, and the revolver; a crowd of +originals, even a Japanese, an elegant young man, dressed in the latest +fashion, with a heavy sombrero which rested upon his straight, inky-black +hair, and which every minute or two he took off and placed under his left +arm, to salute the people of his acquaintance with low bows in the most +approved French manner. + +All these odd people, astonishing a little and interesting greatly the +groups of Parisians gathered above on the sidewalks, crossed the gangway +leading to the boat, and, spreading about on the deck, gazed at the banks +and the houses, or listened to the czardas which the Hungarian musicians +were playing with a sort of savage frenzy beneath the French tricolor +united to the three colors of their own country. + +The Tzigani thus saluted the embarkation of the guests; and the clear, +bright sunshine enveloped the whole boat with a golden aureole, joyously +illuminating the scene of feverish gayety and childish laughter. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE BARONESS'S MATCHMAKING + +The Prince Zilah met his guests with easy grace, on the deck in front of +the foot-bridge. He had a pleasant word for each one as they came on +board, happy and smiling at the idea of a breakfast on the deck of a +steamer, a novel amusement which made these insatiable pleasure-seekers +forget the fashionable restaurants and the conventional receptions of +every day. + +"What a charming thought this was of yours, Prince, so unexpected, so +Parisian, ah, entirely Parisian!" + +In almost the same words did each newcomer address the Prince, who +smiled, and repeated a phrase from Jacquemin's chronicles: "Foreigners +are more Parisian than the Parisians themselves." + +A smile lent an unexpected charm to the almost severe features of the +host. His usual expression was rather sad, and a trifle haughty. His +forehead was broad and high, the forehead of a thinker and a student +rather than that of a soldier; his eyes were of a deep, clear blue, +looking directly at everything; his nose was straight and regular, and +his beard and moustache were blond, slightly gray at the corners of the +mouth and the chin. His whole appearance, suggesting, as it did, reserved +strength and controlled passion, pleased all the more because, while +commanding respect, it attracted sympathy beneath the powerful exterior, +you felt there was a tender kindliness of heart. + +There was no need for the name of Prince Andras Zilah--or, as they say in +Hungary, Zilah Andras--to have been written in characters of blood in the +history of his country, for one to divine the hero in him: his erect +figure, the carriage of his head, braving life as it had defied the +bullets of the enemy, the strange brilliance of his gaze, the sweet +inflections of his voice accustomed to command, and the almost caressing +gestures of his hand used to the sword--all showed the good man under the +brave, and, beneath the indomitable soldier, the true gentleman. + +When they had shaken the hand of their host, the guests advanced to the +bow of the boat to salute a young girl, an exquisite, pale brunette, with +great, sad eyes, and a smile of infinite charm, who was half-extended in +a low armchair beneath masses of brilliant parti-colored flowers. A +stout man, of the Russian type, with heavy reddish moustaches streaked +with gray, and an apoplectic neck, stood by her side, buttoned up in his +frock-coat as in a military uniform. + +Every now and then, leaning over and brushing with his moustaches her +delicate white ear, he would ask: + +"Are you happy, Marsa?" + +And Marsa would answer with a smile ending in a sigh, as she vaguely +contemplated the scene before her: + +"Yes, uncle, very happy." + +Not far from these two was a little woman, still very pretty, although of +a certain age--the age of embonpoint--a brunette, with very delicate +features, a little sensual mouth, and pretty rosy ears peeping forth from +skilfully arranged masses of black hair. With a plump, dimpled hand, she +held before her myopic eyes a pair of gold-mounted glasses; and she was +speaking to a man of rather stern aspect, with a Slav physiognomy, a +large head, crowned with a mass of crinkly hair as white as lamb's wool, +a long, white moustache, and shoulders as broad as an ox; a man already +old, but with the robust strength of an oak. He was dressed neither well +nor ill, lacking distinction, but without vulgarity. + +"Indeed, my dear Varhely, I am enchanted with this idea of Prince Andras. +I am enjoying myself excessively already, and I intend to enjoy myself +still more. Do you know, this scheme of a breakfast on the water is +simply delightful! Don't you find it so? Oh! do be a little jolly, +Varhely!" + +"Do I seem sad, then, Baroness?" + +Yanski Varhely, the friend of Prince Andras, was very happy, however, +despite his rather sombre air. He glanced alternately at the little +woman who addressed him, and at Marsa, two very different types of +beauty: Andras's fiancee, slender and pale as a beautiful lily, and the +little Baroness Dinati, round and rosy as a ripe peach. And he was +decidedly pleased with this Marsa Laszlo, against whom he had +instinctively felt some prejudice when Zilah spoke to him for the first +time of marrying her. To make of a Tzigana--for Marsa was half Tzigana-- +a Princess Zilah, seemed to Count Varhely a slightly bold resolution. +The brave old soldier had never understood much of the fantastic caprices +of passion, and Andras seemed to him in this, as in all other things, +just a little romantic. But, after all, the Prince was his own master, +and whatever a Zilah did was well done. So, after reflection, Zilah's +marriage became a joy to Varhely, as he had just been declaring to the +fiancee's uncle, General Vogotzine. + +Baroness Dinati was therefore wrong to suspect old Yanski Varhely of any +'arriere-pensee'. How was it possible for him not to be enchanted, when +he saw Andras absolutely beaming with happiness? + +They were now about to depart, to raise the anchor and glide down the +river along the quays. Already Paul Jacquemin, casting his last leaves +to the page of L'Actualite, was quickly descending the gangplank. Zilah +scarcely noticed him, for he uttered a veritable cry of delight as he +perceived behind the reporter a young man whom he had not expected. + +"Menko! My dear Michel!" he exclaimed, stretching out both hands to the +newcomer, who advanced, excessively pale. "By what happy chance do I see +you, my dear boy?" + +"I heard in London that you were to give this fete. The English +newspapers had announced your marriage, and I did not wish to wait +longer--I----." + +He hesitated a little as he spoke, as if dissatisfied, troubled, and a +moment before (Zilah had not noticed it) he had made a movement as if to +go back to the quay and leave the boat. + +Michel Menko, however, had not the air of a timid man. He was tall, +thin, of graceful figure, a man of the world, a military diplomat. For +some reason or other, at this moment, he exhibited a certain uneasiness +in his face, which ordinarily bore a rather brilliant color, but which +was now almost sallow. He was instinctively seeking some one among the +Prince's guests, and his glance wandered about the deck with a sort of +dull anger. + +Prince Andras saw only one thing in Menko's sudden appearance; the young +man, to whom he was deeply attached, and who was the only relative he had +in the world (his maternal grandmother having been a Countess Menko), his +dear Michel, would be present at his marriage. He had thought Menko ill +in London; but the latter appeared before him, and the day was decidedly +a happy one. + +"How happy you make me, my dear fellow!" he said to him in a tone of +affection which was almost paternal. + +Each demonstration of friendship by the Prince seemed to increase the +young Count's embarrassment. Beneath a polished manner, the evidence of +an imperious temperament appeared in the slightest glance, the least +gesture, of this handsome fellow of twenty-seven or twenty-eight years. +Seeing him pass by, one could easily imagine him with his fashionable +clothes cast aside, and, clad in the uniform of the Hungarian hussars, +with closely shaven chin, and moustaches brushed fiercely upward, +manoeuvring his horse on the Prater with supple grace and nerves like +steel. + +Menko's gray eyes, with blue reflections in them, which made one think of +the reflection of a storm in a placid lake, became sad when calm, but +were full of a threatening light when animated. The gaze of the young +man had precisely this aggressive look when he discovered, half hidden +among the flowers, Marsa seated in the bow of the boat; then, almost +instantaneously a singular expression of sorrow or anguish succeeded, +only in its turn to fade away with the rapidity of the light of a falling +star; and there was perfect calm in Menko's attitude and expression when +Prince Zilah said to him: + +"Come, Michel, let me present you to my fiancee. Varhely is there also." + +And, taking Menko's arm, he led him toward Marsa. "See," he said to the +young girl, "my happiness is complete." + +She, as Michel Menko bowed low before her, coldly and almost +imperceptibly inclined her dark head, while her large eyes, under the +shadow of their heavy lashes, seemed vainly trying to meet the gray eyes +of the young man. + +Andras beckoned Varhely to come to Marsa, who was white as marble, and +said softly, with a hand on the shoulder of each of the two friends, who +represented to him his whole life--Varhely, the past; Michel Menko, his +recovered youth and the future. + +"If it were not for that stupid superstition which forbids one to +proclaim his happiness, I should tell you how happy I am, very happy. +Yes, the happiest of men," he added. + +Meanwhile, the little Baroness Dinati, the pretty brunette, who had just +found Varhely a trifle melancholy, had turned to Paul Jacquemin, the +accredited reporter of her salon. + +"That happiness, Jacquemin," she said, with a proud wave of the hand, "is +my work. Without me, those two charming savages, so well suited to each +other, Marsa and Andras Zilah, would never have met. On what does +happiness depend!" + +"On an invitation card engraved by Stern," laughed Jacquemin. "But you +have said too much, Baroness. You must tell me the whole story. Think +what an article it would make: The Baroness's Matchmaking! The romance! +Quick, the romance! The romance, or death!" + +"You have no idea how near you are to the truth, my dear Jacquemin: it is +indeed a romance; and, what is more, a romantic romance. A romance which +has no resemblance to--you have invented the word--those brutalistic +stories which you are so fond of." + +"Which I am very fond of, Baroness, I confess, especially when they are +just a little--you know!" + +"But this romance of Prince Andras is by no means just a little--you +know! It is--how shall I express it? It is epic, heroic, romantic--what +you will. I will relate it to you." + +"It will sell fifty thousand copies of our paper," gayly exclaimed +Jacquemin, opening his ears, and taking notes mentally. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE STORY OF THE ZILAHS + +Andras Zilah, Transylvanian Count and Prince of the Holy Empire, was one +of those heroes who devote their whole lives to one aim, and, when they +love, love always. + +Born for action, for chivalrous and incessant struggle, he had sacrificed +his first youth to battling for his country. "The Hungarian was created +on horseback," says a proverb, and Andras did not belie the saying. In +'48, at the age of fifteen, he was in the saddle, charging the Croatian +hussars, the redcloaks, the terrible darkskinned Ottochan horsemen, +uttering frightful yells, and brandishing their big damascened guns. +It seemed then to young Andras that he was assisting at one of the +combats of the Middle Ages, during one of those revolts against the +Osmanlis, of which he had heard so much when a child. + +In the old castle, with towers painted red in the ancient fashion, where +he was born and had grown up, Andras, like all the males of his family +and his country, had been imbued with memories of the old wars. A few +miles from his father's domain rose the Castle of the Isle, which, in the +middle of the sixteenth century, Zringi had defended against the Turks, +displaying lofty courage and unconquerable audacity, and forcing Soliman +the Magnificent to leave thirty thousand soldiers beneath the walls, the +Sultan himself dying before he could subjugate the Hungarian. Often had +Andras's father, casting his son upon a horse, set out, followed by a +train of cavaliers, for Mohacz, where the Mussulmans had once overwhelmed +the soldiers of young King Louis, who died with his own family and every +Hungarian who was able to carry arms. Prince Zilah related to the little +fellow, who listened to him with burning tears of rage, the story of the +days of mourning and the terrible massacres which no Hungarian has ever +forgotten. Then he told him of the great revolts, the patriotic +uprisings, the exploits of Botzkai, Bethlen Gabor, or Rakoczy, whose +proud battle hymn made the blood surge through the veins of the little +prince. + +Once at Buda, the father had taken the son to the spot, where, in 1795, +fell the heads of noble Hungarians, accused of republicanism; and he said +to him, as the boy stood with uncovered head: + +"This place is called the Field of Blood. Martinowitz was beheaded here +for his faith. Remember, that a man's life belongs to his duty, and not +to his happiness." + +And when he returned to the great sombre halls of the castle, whence in +bygone days the Turks had driven out his ancestors, and whence, in their +turn, throwing off the yoke of the conquerors, his ancestors had driven +out the Turks, little Prince Andras found again examples before him in +the giants in semi-oriental costumes, glittering in steel or draped in +purple, who looked down upon him from their frames; smoke-blackened +paintings wherein the eagle eyes and long moustaches of black hussars, +contemporaries of Sobieski, or magnates in furred robes, with aigrettes +in their caps, and curved sabres garnished with precious stones and +enamel, attracted and held spellbound the silent child, while through the +window floated in, sung by some shepherd, or played by wandering Tzigani, +the refrain of the old patriotic ballad 'Czaty Demeter', the origin of +which is lost in the mist of ages + + Remember, oh, yes! remember our ancestors! Brave, proud Magyars, + when you left the land of the Scythians, brave ancestors, great + forefathers, you did not suspect that your sons would be slaves! + Remember, oh, yes! remember our ancestors! + +Andras did remember them, and he knew by heart their history. He knew +the heroism of Prince Zilah Sandor falling in Mohacz in 1566 beside his +wife Hanska who had followed him, leaving in the cradle her son Janski, +whose grandson, Zilah Janos, in 1867, at the very place where his +ancestor had been struck, sabred the Turks, crying: "Sandor and Hanska, +look down upon me; your blood avenges you!" + +There was not one of those men, whose portraits followed the child with +their black eyes, who was not recorded in the history of his country for +some startling deed or noble sacrifice. All had fought for Hungary: the +greater part had died for her. There was a saying that the deathbed of +the Zilahs was a bloody battleground. When he offered his name and his +life to Maria Theresa, one of the Zilah princes had said proudly to the +Empress: "You demand of the Hungarians gold, they bring you steel. The +gold was to nourish your courtiers, the steel will be to save your crown. +Forward!" These terrible ancestors were, besides, like all the magnates +of Hungary, excessively proud of their nobility and their patriarchal +system of feudalism. They knew how to protect their peasants, who were +trained soldiers, how to fight for them, and how to die at their head; +but force seemed to them supreme justice, and they asked nothing but +their sword with which to defend their right. Andras's father, Prince +Sandor, educated by a French tutor who had been driven from Paris by the +Revolution, was the first of all his family to form any perception of a +civilization based upon justice and law, and not upon the almighty power +of the sabre. The liberal education which he had received, Prince Sandor +transmitted to his son. The peasants, who detested the pride of the +Magyars, and the middle classes of the cities, mostly tradesmen who +envied the castles of these magnates, soon became attracted, fascinated, +and enraptured with this transformation in the ancient family of the +Zilahs. No man, not even Georgei, the Spartanlike soldier, nor the +illustrious Kossuth, was more popular in 1849, at the time of the +struggle against Austria, than Prince Sandor Zilah and his son, then a +handsome boy of sixteen, but strong and well built as a youth of twenty. + +At this youthful age, Andras Zilah had been one of those magnates, who, +the 'kalpach' on the head, the national 'attila' over the shoulder and +the hand upon the hilt of the sword, had gone to Vienna to plead before +the Emperor the cause of Hungary. They were not listened to, and one +evening, the negotiations proving futile, Count Batthyanyi said to +Jellachich: + +"We shall soon meet again upon the Drave!" + +"No," responded the Ban of Croatia, "I will go myself to seek you upon +the Danube!" + +This was war; and Prince Sandor went, with his son, to fight bravely for +the old kingdom of St. Stephen against the cannon and soldiers of +Jellachich. + +All these years of blood and battle were now half forgotten by Prince +Andras; but often Yanski Varhely, his companion of those days of +hardship, the bold soldier who in former times had so often braved the +broadsword of the Bohemian cuirassiers of Auersperg's regiment, would +recall to him the past with a mournful shake of the head, and repeat, +ironically, the bitter refrain of the song of defeat: + + Dance, dance, daughters of Hungary! + Tread now the measure so long delayed. + Murdered our sons by the shot or the hangman! + In this land of pleasure, oh! be not dismayed;-- + Now is the time, brown daughters of Hungary, + To dance to the measure of true hearts betrayed! + +And then, these melancholy words calling up the memory of disaster, all +would revive before Andras Zilah's eyes--the days of mourning and the +days of glory; the exploits of Bem; the victories of Dembiski; the +Austrian flags taken at Goedolloe; the assaults of Buda; the defence of +Comorn; Austria, dejected and defeated, imploring the aid of Russia; +Hungary, beaten by the force of numbers, yet resisting Paskiewich as she +had resisted Haynau, and appealing to Europe and the world in the name of +the eternal law of nations, which the vanquished invoke, but which is +never listened to by the countries where the lion is tearing his prey. +And again, Zilah would remember the heroic fatherland struck down at +Temesvar; the remnants of an armed people in refuge at Arad; and Klapka +still holding out in the island of Comorn at the moment when Georgei had +surrendered. Then, again, the obscure deaths of his comrades; the +agonies in the ditches and in the depths of the woods; the last +despairing cries of a conquered people overwhelmed by numbers: + +Dance, dance, daughters of Hungary! + +All this bloody past, enveloped as in a crimson cloud, but glorious with +its gleams of hope and its flashes of victory, the Prince would revive +with old Varhely, in the corner of whose eye at intervals a tear would +glisten. + +They both saw again the last days of Comorn, with the Danube at the foot +of the walls, and the leaves of the trees whirling in the September wind, +and dispersed like the Hungarians themselves; and the shells falling upon +the ramparts; and the last hours of the siege; and the years of mournful +sadness and exile; their companions decimated, imprisoned, led to the +gallows or the stake; the frightful silence and ruin falling like a +winding-sheet over Hungary; the houses deserted, the fields laid waste, +and the country, fertile yesterday, covered now with those Muscovite +thistles, which were unknown in Hungary before the year of massacre, and +the seeds of which the Cossack horses had imported in their thick manes +and tails. + +Beloved Hungary, whose sons, disdaining the universe, used proudly to +boast: "Have we not all that man needs? Banat, which gives us wheat; +Tisza, wine; the mountain, gold and salt. Our country is sufficient for +her children!" And this country, this fruitful country, was now covered +with gibbets and corpses. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"WHEN HUNGARY IS FREE!" + +All these bitter memories Prince Andras, in spite of the years that had +passed, kept ever in his mind one sad and tragic event--the burial of his +father, Sandor Zilah, who was shot in the head by a bullet during an +encounter with the Croats early in the month of January, 1849. + +Prince Sandor was able to grasp the hand of his son, and murmur in the +ear of this hero of sixteen: + +"Remember! Love and defend the fatherland!" + +Then, as the Austrians were close at hand, it was necessary to bury the +Prince in a trench dug in the snow, at the foot of a clump of fir-trees. + +Some Hungarian 'honveds, bourgeois' militia, and Varhely's hussars held +at the edge of the black opening resinous torches, which the wintry wind +shook like scarlet plumes, and which stained the snow with great red +spots of light. Erect, at the head of the ditch, his fingers grasping +the hand of Yanski Varhely, young Prince Andras gazed upon the earthy +bed, where, in his hussar's uniform, lay Prince Sandor, his long blond +moustache falling over his closed mouth, his blood-stained hands crossed +upon his black embroidered vest, his right hand still clutching the +handle of his sabre, and on his forehead, like a star, the round mark of +the bit of lead that had killed him. + +Above, the whitened branches of the firs looked like spectres, and upon +the upturned face of the dead soldier fell flakes of snow like congealed +tears. Under the flickering of the torch-flames, blown about by the +north wind, the hero seemed at times to move again, and a wild desire +came to Andras to leap down into the grave and snatch away the body. He +was an orphan now, his mother having died when he was an infant, and he +was alone in the world, with only the stanch friendship of Varhely and +his duty to his country to sustain him. + +"I will avenge you, father," he whispered to the patriot, who could no +longer hear his words. + +The hussars and honveds had advanced, ready to fire a final salvo over +the grave of the Prince, when, suddenly, gliding between the ranks of the +soldiers, appeared a band of Tzigani, who began to play the March of +Rakoczy, the Hungarian Marseillaise, the stirring melody pealing forth in +the night-air, and lending a certain mysteriously touching element to the +sad scene. A quick shudder ran through the ranks of the soldiers, ready +to become avengers. + +The national hymn rang out like a song of glory over the resting-place of +the vanquished. The soul of the dead seemed to speak in the voice of the +heroic music, recalling to the harassed contestants for liberty the great +days of the revolts of the fatherland, the old memories of the struggles +against the Turks, the furious charges of the cavaliers across the free +puszta, the vast Hungarian plain. + +And while, with long sweeps of his arm, the chief of the Tzigani marked +the measure, and the 'czimbalom' poured forth its heartrending notes, +it seemed to the poor fellows gathered about that the music of the March +of Rakoczy summoned a whole fantastic squadron of avengers, horsemen with +floating pelisses and herons' plumes in their hats, who, erect in their +saddles and with sabres drawn, struck, struck the frightened enemy, and +recovered, foot by foot, the conquered territory. There was in this +exalted march a sound of horses' hoofs, the clash of arms, a shaking of +the earth under the gallop of horsemen, a flash of agraffes, a rustle of +pelisses in the wind, an heroic gayety and a chivalrous bravery, like the +cry of a whole people of cavaliers sounding the charge of deliverance. + +And the young Prince, gazing down upon his dead father, remembered how +many times those mute lips had related to him the legend of the czardas, +that legend, symbolic of the history of Hungary, summing up all the +bitter pain of the conquest, when the beautiful dark girls of +Transylvania danced, their tears burning their cheeks, under the lash of +the Osmanlis. At first, cold and motionless, like statues whose calm +looks silently insulted their possessors, they stood erect beneath the +eye of the Turk; then little by little, the sting of the master's whip +falling upon their shoulders and tearing their sides and cheeks, their +bodies twisted in painful, revolted spasms; the flesh trembled under the +cord like the muscles of a horse beneath the spur; and, in the morbid +exaltation of suffering, a sort of wild delirium took possession of them, +their arms were waved in the air, their heads with hair dishevelled were +thrown backward, and the captives, uttering a sound at once plaintive and +menacing, danced, their dance, at first slow and melancholy, becoming +gradually active, nervous, and interrupted by cries which resembled sobs. +And the Hungarian czardas, symbolizing thus the dance of these martyrs, +kept still, will always keep, the characteristic of contortions under the +lash of bygone days; and, slow and languishing at first, then soon quick +and agitated, tragically hysterical, it also is interrupted by melancholy +chords, dreary, mournful notes and plaintive accents like drops of blood +from a wound-from the mortal wound of Prince Sandor, lying there in his +martial uniform. + +The bronzed Tzigani, fantastically illumined by the red glare of the +torches, stood out against the white background like demons of revenge; +and the hymn, feverish, bold, ardent, echoed through the snow-covered +branches like a hurricane of victory. They were wandering musicians, +who, the evening before, had been discovered in a neighboring village by +some of Jellachich's Croats, and whom Prince Sandor had unceremoniously +rescued at the head of his hussars; and they had come, with their ancient +national airs, the voice of their country, to pay their debt to the +fallen hero. + +When they had finished, the wintry night-wind bearing away the last notes +of their war-song, the pistols of the hussars and the guns of the honveds +discharged a salute over the grave. The earth and snow were shovelled in +upon the body of Sandor Zilah, and Prince Andras drew away, after marking +with a cross the place where his father reposed. + +A few paces away, he perceived, among the Tzigani musicians, a young +girl, the only woman of the tribe, who wept with mournful sobbings like +the echoes of the deserts of the Orient. + +He wondered why the girl wept so bitterly, when he, the son, could not +shed a tear. + +"Because Prince Zilah Sandor was valiant among the valiant," she replied, +in answer to his question, "and he died because he would not wear the +talisman which I offered him." + +Andras looked at the girl. + +"What talisman?" + +"Some pebbles from the lakes of Tatra, sewn up in a little leather bag." + +Andras knew what a powerful superstition is attached by the people of +Hungary to these deep lakes of Tatra, the "eyes of the sea," where, say +the old legends, the most beautiful carbuncle in the world lies hidden, +a carbuncle which would sparkle like the sun, if it could be discovered, +and which is guarded by frogs with diamond eyes and with lumps of pure +gold for feet. He felt more touched than astonished at the superstition +of the Tzigana, and at the offer which, the evening before, Prince Sandor +had refused with a smile. + +"Give me what you wished to give my father," he said. "I will keep it in +memory of him." + +A bright, joyous light flashed for a moment across the face of the +Tzigana. She extended to the young Prince the little bag of leather +containing several small, round pebbles like grains of maize. + +"At all events," exclaimed the young. girl, "there will be one Zilah +whom the balls of the Croats will spare for the safety of Hungary." + +Andras slowly detached from his shoulder the silver agraffe, set with +opals, which clasped his fur pelisse, and handed it to the gypsy, who +regarded it with admiring eyes as it flashed in the red light. + +"The day when my father is avenged," he said, "and our Hungary is free, +bring me this jewel, and you and yours come to the castle of the Zilahs. +I will give you a life of peace in memory of this night of mourning." + +Already, at a distance, could be heard a rapid fusillade about the +outposts. The Austrians had perhaps perceived the light from the +torches, and were attempting a night attack. + +"Extinguish the torches!" cried Yanski Varhely. + +The resinous knots hissed as they were thrust into the snow, and the +black, sinister night of winter, with the cries of the wind in the +branches, fell upon the troop of men, ready to die as their chief had +died; and all disappeared vision, phantoms--the Tzigani silently taking +refuge in the sombre forest, while here and there could be heard the +rattle of the ramrods as the honveds loaded their guns. + +This January night appeared now to Andras as an almost fantastic dream. +Since then he had erected a mausoleum of marble on the very spot where +Prince Sandor fell; and of all the moments of that romantic, picturesque +war, the agonizing moment, the wild scene of the burial of his father, +was most vivid in his memory--the picture of the warrior stretched in the +snow, his hand on the handle of his sword, remained before his eyes, +imperishable in its melancholy majesty. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +"MY FATHER WAS A RUSSIAN!" + +When the war was over, the Prince roamed sadly for years about Europe-- +Europe, which, unmindful of the martyrs, had permitted the massacre of +the vanquished. It was many years before he could accustom himself to +the idea that he had no longer a country. He counted always upon the +future; it was impossible that fate would forever be implacable to a +nation. He often repeated this to Yanski Varhely, who had never forsaken +him--Yanski Varhely, the impoverished old hussar, the ruined gentleman, +now professor of Latin and mathematics at Paris, and living near the +Prince off the product of his lessons and a small remnant he had managed +to save from the wreck of his property. + +"Hungary will spring up again, Yanski; Hungary is immortal!" Andras +would exclaim. + +"Yes, on one condition," was Varhely's response. "She must arrive at a +comprehension that if she has succumbed, it is because she has committed +faults. All defeats have their geneses. Before the enemy we were not a +unit. There were too many discussions, and not enough action; such a +state of affairs is always fatal." + +The years brought happy changes to Hungary. She practically regained her +freedom; by her firmness she made the conquest of her own autonomy by the +side of Austria. Deak's spirit, in the person of Andrassy, recovered the +possession of power. But neither Andras nor Varhely returned to their +country. The Prince had become, as he himself said with a smile, "a +Magyar of Paris." He grew accustomed to the intellectual, refined life +of the French city; and this was a consolation, at times, for the exile +from his native land. + +"It is not a difficult thing to become bewitched with Paris," he would +say, as if to excuse himself. + +He had no longer, it is true, the magnificent landscapes of his youth; +the fields of maize, the steppes, dotted here and there with clumps of +wild roses; the Carpathian pines, with their sombre murmur; and all the +evening sounds which had been his infancy's lullaby; the cowbells, +melancholy and indistinct; the snapping of the great whips of the czikos; +the mounted shepherds, with their hussar jackets, crossing the plains +where grew the plants peculiar to the country; and the broad horizons +with the enormous arms of the windmills outlined against the golden +sunset. But Paris, with its ever-varying seductions, its activity in art +and science, its perpetual movement, had ended by becoming a real need to +him, like a new existence as precious and as loved as the first. The +soldier had become a man of letters, jotting down for himself, not for +the public, all that struck him in his observation and his reading; +mingling in all societies, knowing them all, but esteeming only one, that +of honest people; and thus letting the years pass by, without suspecting +that they were flying, regarding himself somewhat as a man away on a +visit, and suddenly awaking one fine morning almost old, wondering how he +had lived all this time of exile which, despite many mental troubles, +seemed to him to have lasted only a few months. + +"We resemble," he said to Varhely, "those emigrants who never unpack +their boxes, certain that they are soon to return home. They wait, and +some day, catching a glimpse of themselves in a glass, they are amazed to +find wrinkles and gray hairs." + +No longer having a home in his own country, Prince Andras had never +dreamed of making another abroad. He hired the sumptuous hotel he +inhabited at the top of the Champs Elysees, when houses were rather +scattered there. Fashion, and the ascensional movement of Paris toward +the Arc de Triomphe, had come to seek him. His house was rich in +beautiful pictures and rare books, and he sometimes received there his +few real friends, his companions in troublous times, like Varhely. He +was generally considered a little of a recluse, although he loved society +and showed himself, during the winter, at all entertainments where, by +virtue of his fame and rank, he would naturally be expected to be +present. But he carried with him a certain melancholy and gravity, which +contrasted strongly with the frivolous trivialities and meaningless +smiles of our modern society. In the summer, he usually passed two +months at the seashore, where Varhely frequently joined him; and upon the +leafy terrace of the Prince's villa the two friends had long and +confidential chats, as they watched the sun sink into the sea. + +Andras had never thought of marrying. At first, he had a sort of feeling +that he was doomed to an early death, ever expecting a renewal of the +struggle with Austria; and he thought at that time that the future would +bring to him his father's fate--a ball in the forehead and a ditch. +Then, without knowing it, he had reached and passed his fortieth year. + +"Now it is too late," he said, gayly. "The psychological moment is long +gone by. We shall both end old bachelors, my good Varhely, and spend our +evenings playing checkers, that mimic warfare of old men." + +"Yes, that is all very well for me, who have no very famous name to +perpetuate; but the Zilahs should not end with you. I want some sturdy +little hussar whom I can teach to sit a horse, and who also will call me +his good old Yanski." + +The Prince smiled, and then replied, gravely, almost sadly: "I greatly +fear that one can not love two things at once; the heart is not elastic. +I chose Hungary for my bride, and my life must be that of a widower." + +In the midst of the austere and thoughtful life he led, Andras preserved, +nevertheless, a sort of youthful buoyancy. Many men of thirty were less +fresh in mind and body than he. He was one of those beings who die, as +they have lived, children: even the privations of the hardest kind of an +existence can not take away from them that purity and childlike trust +which seem to be an integral part of themselves, and which, although they +may be betrayed, deceived and treated harshly by life, they never wholly +lose; very manly and heroic in time of need and danger, they are by +nature peculiarly exposed to treasons and deceptions which astonish but +do not alter them. Since man, in the progress of time, must either +harden or break to pieces, the hero in them is of iron; but, on the other +hand, their hearts are easily wounded by the cruel hand of some woman or +the careless one of a child. + +Andras Zilah had not yet loved deeply, as it was in his nature to love. +More or less passing caprices had not dried up the spring of real passion +which was at the bottom of his heart. But he had not sought this love; +for he adored his Hungary as he would have loved a woman, and the bitter +recollection of her defeat gave him the impression of a love that had +died or been cruelly betrayed. + +Yanski, on the whole, had not greatly troubled himself to demonstrate +mathematically or philosophically that a "hussar pupil" was an absolute +necessity to him. People can not be forced, against their will, to +marry; and the Prince, after all, was free, if he chose, to let the name +of Zilah die with him. + +"Taking life as it is," old Varhely would growl, "perhaps it isn't +necessary to bring into the world little beings who never asked to come +here." And yet breaking off in his pessimism, and with a vision before +his eyes of another Andras, young, handsome, leading his hussars to the +charge "and yet, it is a pity, Andras, it is a pity." + +The decisions of men are more often dependent upon chance than upon their +own will. Prince Andras received an invitation to dinner one day from +the little Baroness Dinati, whom he liked very much, and whose husband, +Orso Dinati, one of the defenders of Venice in the time of Manin, had +been his intimate friend. The house of the Baroness was a very curious +place; the reporter Jacquemin, who was there at all times, testing the +wines and correcting the menus, would have called it "bizarre." The +Baroness received people in all circles of society; oddities liked her, +and she did not dislike oddities. Very honest, very spirituelle, an +excellent woman at heart, she gave evening parties, readings from +unheard-of books, and performances of the works of unappreciated +musicians; and the reporters, who came to absorb her salads and drink her +punch, laughed at her in their journals before their supper was digested. + +The Prince, as we have said, was very fond of the Baroness, with an +affection which was almost fraternal. He pardoned her childishness and +her little absurdities for the sake of her great good qualities. "My +dear Prince," she said to him one day, "do you know that I would throw +myself into the fire for you?" + +"I am sure of it; but there would not be any great merit in your doing +so." + +"And why not, please?" + +"Because you would not run any risk of being burned. This must be so, +because you receive in your house a crowd of highly suspicious people, +and no one has ever suspected you yourself. You are a little salamander, +the prettiest salamander I ever met. You live in fire, and you have +neither upon your face nor your reputation the slightest little scorch." + +"Then you think that my guests are"---- + +"Charming. Only, they are of two kinds: those whom I esteem, and who do +not amuse me--often; and those who amuse me, and whom I esteem--never." + +"I suppose you will not come any more to the Rue Murillo, then?" + +"Certainly I shall--to see you." + +And it really was to see her that the Prince went to the Baroness +Dinati's, where his melancholy characteristics clashed with so many +worldly follies and extravagances. The Baroness seemed to have a +peculiar faculty in choosing extraordinary guests: Peruvians, formerly +dictators, now become insurance agents, or generals transformed into +salesmen for some wine house; Cuban chiefs half shot to pieces by the +Spaniards; Cretes exiled by the Turks; great personages from +Constantinople, escaped from the Sultan's silken bowstring, and +displaying proudly their red fez in Paris, where the opera permitted them +to continue their habits of polygamy; Americans, whose gold-mines or +petroleum-wells made them billionaires for a winter, only to go to pieces +and make them paupers the following summer; politicians out of a place; +unknown authors; misunderstood poets; painters of the future-in short, +the greater part of the people who were invited by Prince Andras to his +water-party, Baroness Dinati having pleaded for her friends and obtained +for them cards of invitation. It was a sort of ragout of real and shady +celebrities, an amusing, bustling crowd, half Bohemian, half +aristocratic, entirely cosmopolitan. Prince Andras remembered once +having dined with a staff officer of Garibaldi's army on one side of him, +and the Pope's nuncio on the other. + +On a certain evening the Baroness was very anxious that the Prince should +not refuse her latest invitation. + +"I am arranging a surprise for you," she said. "I am going to have to +dinner"-- + +"Whom? The Mikado? The Shah of Persia?" + +"Better than the Mikado. A charming young girl who admires you +profoundly, for she knows by heart the whole history of your battles of +1849. She has read Georgei, Klapka, and all the rest of them; and she is +so thoroughly Bohemian in heart, soul and race, that she is universally +called the Tzigana." + +"The Tzigana?" + +This simple word, resembling the clank of cymbals, brought up to Prince +Andras a whole world of recollections. 'Hussad czigany'! The rallying +cry of the wandering musicians of the puszta had some element in it like +the cherished tones of the distant bells of his fatherland. + +"Ah! yes, indeed, my dear Baroness," he said; "that is a charming +surprise. I need not ask if your Tzigana is pretty; all the Tzigani of +my country are adorable, and I am sure I shall fall in love with her." + +The Prince had no notion how prophetic his words were. The Tzigana, whom +the Baroness requested him to take in to dinner, was Marsa, Marsa Laszlo, +dressed in one of the black toilettes which she affected, and whose +clear, dark complexion, great Arabian eyes, and heavy, wavy hair seemed +to Andras's eyes to be the incarnation, in a prouder and more refined +type, of the warm, supple, nervous beauty of the girls of his country. + +He was surprised and strangely fascinated, attracted by the incongruous +mixture of extreme refinement and a sort of haughty unconventionality he +found in Marsa. A moment before, he had noticed how silent, almost rigid +she was, as she leaned back in her armchair; but now this same face was +strangely animated, illumined by some happy emotion, and her eyes burned +like coals of fire as she fixed them upon Andras. + +During the whole dinner, the rest of the dining-room disappeared to the +Prince; he saw only the girl at his side; and the candles and polished +mirrors were only there to form a sparkling background for her pale, +midnight beauty. + +"Do you know, Prince," said Marsa, in her rich, warm contralto voice, +whose very accents were like a caress, "do you know that, among all those +who fought for our country, you are the one admiration of my life?" + +He smiled, and mentioned more illustrious names. + +"No, no," she answered; "those are not the names I care for, but yours. +I will tell you why." + +And she recalled, in a voice vibrating with emotion, all that Prince +Zilah Sandor and his son had attempted, twenty years before, for the +liberty of Hungary. She told the whole story in the most vivid manner; +had her age permitted her to have been present at those battles, she +could not have related them with more spirited enthusiasm. + +"I know, perfectly, how, at the head of your hussars, you wrested from +the soldiers of Jellachich the first standard captured by the Hungarians +from the ranks of Austria. Shall I tell you the exact date? and the day +of the week? It was Thursday." + +The whole history, ignored, forgotten, lost in the smoke of more recent +wars, the strange, dark-eyed girl, knew day by day, hour by hour; and +there, in that Parisian dining-room, surrounded by all that crowd, where +yesterday's 'bon mot', the latest scandal, the new operetta, were +subjects of paramount importance, Andras, voluntarily isolated, saw +again, present and living, his whole heroic past rise up before him, as +beneath the wave of a fairy's wand. + +"But how do you know me so well?" he asked, fixing his clear eyes upon +Marsa Laszlo's face. "Was your father one of my soldiers?" + +"My father was a Russian," responded Marsa, abruptly, her voice suddenly +becoming harsh and cutting. + +"A Russian?" + +"Yes, a Russian," she repeated, emphasizing the word with a sort of dull +anger. "My mother alone was a Tzigana, and my mother's beauty was part +of the spoils of those who butchered your soldiers?" + +In the uproar of conversation, which became more animated with the +dessert, she could not tell him of the sorrows of her life; and yet, +he guessed there was some sad story in the life of the young girl, +and almost implored her to speak, stopping just at the limit where +sympathy might change into indiscretion. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, as she was silent, with a dark shadow +overspreading her face. "I have no right to know your life simply +because you are so well acquainted with mine." + +"Oh! you!" she said, with a sad smile; "your life is history; mine is +drama, melodrama even. There is a great difference." + +"Pardon my presumption!" + +"Oh! I will willingly tell you of my life, if the existence of a useless +being like myself can interest you; but not here in the noise of this +dinner. It would be absurd," with a change of tone, "to mingle tears +with champagne. By-and-bye! By-and-bye!" + +She made an evident effort to appear gay, like the pretty women who were +there, and who, despite their prettiness, seemed to Andras perfectly +insignificant; but she did not succeed in driving away the cloud of +sadness which overshadowed her exquisite, dark face. And in the ears of +the Prince rang again the bitter accents of that voice saying in a harsh, +almost revolted tone: + +"Yes, a Russian! My father was a Russian!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A GYPSY PRINCESS + +The mystery which seemed to envelop Marsa, the flash of anger with which +she had spoken of the Russian who was her father, all attracted the +Prince toward her; and he experienced a deliciously disquieting +sentiment, as if the secret of this girl's existence were now grafted +upon his own life. + +She seemed to have no wish to keep her secret from him. At their first +meeting, during the conversation which followed the dinner and the +musical exhibition given by extraordinary musicians with long, unkempt +locks, Marsa, trusting with a sort of joy to the one whom she regarded as +a hero, told Prince Andras the story of her life. + +She related to him the assault made by soldiers of Paskiewich upon the +little Hungarian village, and how her grandfather, leaving his czimbalom, +had fired upon the Russians from the ranks of the honveds. There was a +combat, or rather a butchery, in the sole street of the town, one of the +last massacres of the campaign. The Russians destroyed everything, +shooting down the prisoners, and burning the poor little houses. There +were some women among the Hungarians and Tzigani; they had loaded the +guns of the wounded, comforted the dying and avenged the dead. Many of +them were killed. One of them, the youngest and prettiest, a gypsy, was +seized by the Russian officer, and, when peace was declared soon after, +carried off by him to Russia. This was Tisza Laszlo, Marsa's mother. +The officer, a great Russian nobleman, a handsome fellow and extremely +rich, really loved her with a mad sort of love. He forced her to become +his mistress; but he tried in every way to make her pardon the brutality +of his passion; keeping her half a captive in his castle near Moscow, +and yet offering her, by way of expiation, not only his fortune but his +name, the princely title of which the Tchereteff s, his ancestors, had +been so proud, and which the daughter of wandering Tzigani refused with +mingled hatred and disgust. Princess? She, the gypsy, a Russian +princess? The title would have appeared to her like a new and still more +abhorrent stigma. He implored her, but she was obdurate. It was a +strange, tragic existence these two beings led, shut up in the immense +castle, from the windows of which Tisza could perceive the gilded domes +of Moscow, the superb city in which she would never set her foot, +preferring the palace, sad and gloomy as a cell. Alone in the world, +the sole survivor of her massacred tribe, the Russians to her were the +murderers of her people, the assassins of the free musicians with eagle +profiles she used to follow as they played the czardas from village to +village. + +She never saw Prince Tchereteff, handsome, generous, charming, loving her +and trembling before her glance although he had ruthlessly kidnapped her +from her country, that she did not think of him, sword in hand, entering +the burning Hungarian village, his face reddened by the flames, as the +bayonets of his soldiers were reddened with blood. She hated this tall +young man, his drooping moustache, his military uniform, his broad +figure, his white-gloved hands: he represented to the imprisoned Tzigana +the conqueror and murderer of her people. And yet a daughter was born to +them. She had defended herself with the cries of a tigress; and then she +had longed to die, to die of hunger, since, a close prisoner, she could +not obtain possession of a weapon, nor cast herself into the water. She +had lived, nevertheless, and then her daughter reconciled her to life. +The child which was born to her was all in all to Tizsa. Marsa was an +exact reproduction, feature by feature, of her mother, and, strange to +say, daughters generally resembling the father, had nothing of +Tchereteff, nothing Russian about her: on the contrary, she was all +Tzigana--Tzigana in the clear darkness of her skin, in her velvety eyes, +and her long, waving black hair, with its bronze reflections, which the +mother loved to wind about her thin fingers. + +Her beauty, faded by long, slow sorrow, Tisza found again in her child, +a true daughter of Hungary like herself; and, as Marsa grew up, she told +her the legends, the songs, the heroism, the martyrdom, of Hungary, +picturing to the little girl the great, grassy plain, the free puszta, +peopled with a race in whose proud language the word honor recurs again +and again. + +Marsa grew up in the Muscovite castle, loving nothing in the world except +her mother, and regarding with frightened eyes the blond stranger who +sometimes took her upon his knees and gazed sadly into her face. Before +this man, who was her father, she felt as if she were in the presence of +an enemy. As Tisza never went out, Marsa rarely quitted the castle; and, +when she went to Moscow, she hastened to return to her mother. The very +gayeties of that noisy city weighed upon her heart; for she never forgot +the war-tales of the Tzigana, and, perhaps, among the passers-by was the +wretch who had shot down her grandfather, old Mihal. + +The Tzigana cultivated, with a sort of passion, a love of far-off Hungary +and a hatred for the master in the impressionable mind of her daughter. +There is a Servian proverb which says, that when a Wallachian has crossed +the threshold the whole house becomes Wallachian. Tisza did not wish the +house to become Hungarian; but she did wish that the child of her loins +should be and should remain Hungarian. + +The servants of Prince Tchereteff never spoke of their mistress except as +The Tzigana, and this was the name which Marsa wished to bear also. It +seemed to her like a title of nobility. + +And the years passed without the Tzigana pardoning the Russian, and +without Marsa ever having called him father. + +In the name of their child, the Prince one day solemnly asked Tisza +Laszlo to consent to become his wife, and the mother refused. + +"But our daughter?" said the Prince. + +"My daughter? She will bear the name of her mother, which at least is +not a Russian name." + +The Prince was silenced. + +As Marsa grew up, Moscow became displeasing to the Prince. He had his +daughter educated as if she were destined to be the Czarina. He summoned +to the castle a small army of instructors, professors of music and +singing; French, English, and German masters, drawing masters, etc., etc. +The young girl, with the prodigious power of assimilation peculiar to her +race, learned everything, loving knowledge for its own sake, but, +nevertheless, always deeply moved by the history of that unknown country, +which was that of her mother, and even her own, the land of her heart and +her soul-Hungary. She knew, from her mother, about all its heroes: +Klapka, Georgei, Dembiski; Bem, the conqueror of Buda; Kossuth, the +dreamer of a sort of feudal liberty; and those chivalrous Zilah princes, +father and son, the fallen martyr and the living hero. + +Prince Tchereteff, French in education and sentiment, wished to take to +France the child, who did not bear his name, but whom he adored. France +also exercised a powerful fascination over Marsa's imagination; and she +departed joyously for Paris, accompanied by the Tzigana, her mother, who +felt like a prisoner set at liberty. To quit Russian soil was in itself +some consolation, and who knew? perhaps she might again see her dear +fatherland. + +Tisza, in fact, breathed more freely in Paris, repeating however, like a +mournful refrain, the proverb of her country: Away from Hungary, life is +not life. The Prince purchased, at Maisons-Lafitte, not far from the +forest of Saint-Germain, a house surrounded by an immense garden. Here, +as formerly at Moscow, Tisza and the Prince lived together, and yet +apart--the Tzigana, implacable in her resentment, bitterly refusing all +pardon to the Russian, and always keeping alive in Marsa a hatred of all +that was Muscovite; the Prince, disconsolate, gloomy, discouraged between +the woman whom he adored and whose heart he could not win, and the girl, +so wonderfully beautiful, the living portrait of her mother, and who +treated him with the cold respect one shows to a stranger. + +Not long after their arrival in Paris, a serious heart trouble attacked +Marsa's father. He summoned to his deathbed the Tzigana and her +daughter; and, in a sort of supreme confession, he openly asked his +child, before the mother, to forgive him for her birth. + +"Marsa," he said, slowly, "your birth, which should make the joy of my +existence, is the remorse of my whole life. But I am dying of the love +which I can not conquer. Will you kiss me as a token that you have +pardoned me?" + +For the first time, perhaps, Marsa's lips, trembling with emotion, then +touched the Prince's forehead. But, before kissing him, her eyes had +sought those of her mother, who bowed her head in assent. + +"And you," murmured the dying Prince, "will you forgive me, Tisza?" + +The Tzigana saw again her native village in flames, her brothers dead, +her father murdered, and this man, now lying thin and pale amid the +pillows, erect, with sabre drawn, crying: "Courage! Charge! Forward!" + +Then she saw herself dragged almost beneath a horse's hoofs, cast into a +wagon with wrists bound together, carried in the rear of an army with the +rest of the victor's spoils, and immured within Russian walls. She felt +again on her lips the degradation of the first kiss of this man whose +suppliant, pitiful love was hideous to her. + +She made a step toward the dying man as if to force herself to whisper, +"I forgive you;" but all the resentment and suffering of her life mounted +to her heart, almost stifling her, and she paused, going no farther, and +regarding with a haggard glance the man whose eyes implored her pardon, +and who, after raising his pale face from the pillow, let his head fall +back again with one long, weary sigh. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE STORY OF MARSA + +Prince Tchereteff left his whole fortune to Marsa Laszlo, leaving her in +the hands of his uncle Vogotzine, an old, ruined General, whose property +had been confiscated by the Czar, and who lived in Paris half imbecile +with fear, having become timid as a child since his release from Siberia, +where he had been sent on some pretext or other, no one knew exactly the +reason why. + +It had been necessary to obtain the sovereign intervention of the Czar-- +that Czar whose will is the sole law, a law above laws--to permit Prince +Tchereteff to give his property to a foreigner, a girl without a name. +The state would gladly have seized upon the fortune, as the Prince had no +other relative save an outlaw; but the Czar graciously gave his +permission, and Marsa inherited. + +Old General Vogotzine was, in fact, the only living relative of Prince +Tchereteff. In consideration of a yearly income, the Prince charged him +to watch over Marsa, and see to her establishment in life. Rich as she +was, Marsa would have no lack of suitors; but Tisza, the half-civilized +Tzigana, was. not the one to guide and protect a young girl in Paris. +The Prince believed Vogotzine to be less old and more acquainted with +Parisian life than he really was, and it was a consolation to the father +to feel that his daughter would have a guardian. + +Tisza did not long survive the Prince. She died in that Russian house, +every stone of which she hated, even to the Muscovite crucifix over the +door, which her faith, however, forbade her to have removed; she died +making her daughter swear that the last slumber which was coming to her, +gently lulling her to rest after so much suffering, should be slept in +Hungarian soil; and, after the Tzigana's death, this young girl of +twenty, alone with Vogotzine, who accompanied her on the gloomy journey +with evident displeasure, crossed France, went to Vienna, sought in the +Hungarian plain the place where one or two miserable huts and some +crumbling walls alone marked the site of the village burned long ago by +Tchereteff's soldiers; and there, in Hungarian soil, close to the spot +where the men of her tribe had been shot down, she buried the Tzigana, +whose daughter she so thoroughly felt herself to be, that, in breathing +the air of the puszta, she seemed to find again in that beloved land +something already seen, like a vivid memory of a previous existence. + +And yet, upon the grave of the martyr, Marsa prayed also for the +executioner. She remembered that the one who reposed in the cemetery of +Pere-Lachaise, beneath a tomb in the shape of a Russian dome, was her +father, as the Tzigana, interred in Hungary, was her mother; and she +asked in her prayer, that these two beings, separated in life, should +pardon each other in the unknown, obscure place of departed souls. + +So Marsa Laszlo was left alone in the world. She returned to France, +which she had become attached to, and shut herself up in the villa of +Maisons-Lafitte, letting old Vogotzine install himself there as a sort of +Mentor, more obedient than a servant, and as silent as a statue; and this +strange guardian, who had formerly fought side by side with Schamyl, and +cut down the Circassians with the sang-froid of a butcher's boy wringing +the neck of a fowl, and who now scarcely dared to open his lips, as if +the entire police force of the Czar had its eye upon him; this old +soldier, who once cared nothing for privations, now, provided he had his +chocolate in the morning, his kummel with his coffee at breakfast, and a +bottle of brandy on the table all day--left Marsa free to think, act, +come and go as she pleased. + +She had accepted the Prince's legacy, but with this mental reservation +and condition, that the Hungarian colony of Paris should receive half of +it. It seemed to her that the money thus given to succor the compatriots +of her mother would be her father's atonement. She waited, therefore, +until she had attained her majority; and then she sent this enormous sum +to the Hungarian aid society, saying that the donor requested that part +of the amount should be used in rebuilding the little village in +Transylvania which had been burned twenty years before by Russian troops. +When they asked what name should be attached to so princely a gift, Marsa +replied: "That which was my mother's and which is mine, The Tzigana." +More than ever now did she cling to that cognomen of which she was so +proud. + +"And," she said to Zilah, after she had finished the recital of her +story, "it is because I am thus named that I have the right to speak to +you of yourself." + +Prince Andras listened with passionate attention to the beautiful girl, +thus evoking for him the past, confident and even happy to speak and make +herself known to the man whose life of heroic devotion she knew so well. + +He was not astonished at her sudden frankness, at the confidence +displayed at a first meeting; and it seemed to him that he had long been +acquainted with this Tzigana, whose very name he had been ignorant of a +few hours before. It appeared to him quite simple that Marsa should +confide in him, as he on his side would have related to her his whole +life, if she had asked it with a glance from her dark eyes. He felt that +he had reached one of the decisive moments of his life. Marsa called up +visions of his youth-his first tender dreams of love, rudely broken by +the harsh voice of war; and he felt as he used to feel, in the days long +gone by, when he sat beneath the starry skies of a summer night and +listened to the old, heart-stirring songs of his country and the laughter +of the brown maidens of Budapest. + +"Prince," said Marsa Laszlo, suddenly, "do you know that I have been +seeking you for a long time, and that when the Baroness Dinati presented +you to me, she fulfilled one of my most ardent desires?" + +"Me, Mademoiselle? You have been seeking me?" + +"Yes, you. Tisza, of whom I spoke to you, my Tzigana mother, who bore +the name of the blessed river of our country, taught me to repeat your +name. She met you years ago, in the saddest moment of your life." + +"Your mother?" said Andras, waiting anxiously for the young girl to +continue. + +"Yes, my mother." + +She pointed to the buckle which clasped the belt of her dress. + +"See," she said. + +Andras felt a sudden pang, which yet was not altogether pain, dart +through his heart, and his eyes wandered questioningly from the buckle to +Marsa's face. Smiling, but her beautiful lips mute, Marsa seemed to say +to him: "Yes, it is the agraffe which you detached from your soldier's +pelisse and gave to an unknown Tzigana near your father's grave." + +The silver ornament, incrusted with opals, recalled sharply to Prince +Zilah that sad January night when the dead warrior had been laid in his +last resting-place. He saw again the sombre spot, the snowy fir-trees, +the black trench, and the broad, red reflections of the torches, which, +throwing a flickering light upon the dead, seemed to reanimate the pale, +cold face. + +And that daughter of the wandering musicians who had, at the open grave, +played as a dirge, or, rather, as a ringing hymn of resurrection and +deliverance, the chant of the fatherland-that dark girl to whom he had +said: "Bring me this jewel, and come and live in peace with the Zilahs" +--was the mother of this beautiful, fascinating creature, whose every +word, since he had first met her a few hours before, had exercised such a +powerful effect upon him. + +"So," he said, slowly, with a sad smile, "your mother's talisman was +worth more than mine. I have kept the lake pebbles she gave me, and +death has passed me by; but the opals of the agraffe did not bring +happiness to your mother. It is said that those stones are unlucky. +Are you superstitious?" + +"I should not be Tisza's daughter if I did not believe a little in all +that is romantic, fantastic, improbable, impossible even. Besides, the +opals are forgiven now: for they have permitted me to show you that you +were not unknown to me, Prince; and, as you see, I wear this dear agraffe +always. It has a double value to me, since it recalls the memory of my +poor mother and the name of a hero." + +She spoke these words in grave, sweet accents, which seemed more +melodious to Prince Andras than all the music of Baroness Dinati's +concert. He divined that Marsa Laszlo found as much pleasure in speaking +to him as he felt in listening. As he gazed at her, a delicate flush +spread over Marsa's pale, rather melancholy face, tingeing even her +little, shell-like ears, and making her cheeks glow with the soft, warm +color of a peach. + +Just at this moment the little Baroness came hastily up to them, and, +with an assumed air of severity, began to reproach Marsa for neglecting +the unfortunate musicians, suddenly breaking off to exclaim: + +"Really, you are a hundred times prettier than ever this evening, my dear +Marsa. What have you been doing to yourself?" + +"Oh! it is because I am very happy, I suppose," replied Marsa. + +"Ah! my dear Prince," and the Baroness broke into a merry peal of +laughter, "it is you, O ever-conquering hero, who have worked this +miracle." + +But, as if she had been too hasty in proclaiming aloud her happiness, the +Tzigana suddenly frowned, a harsh, troubled look crept into her dark +eyes, and her cheeks became pale as marble, while her gaze was fixed upon +a tall young man who was crossing the salon and coming toward her. + +Instinctively Andras Zilah followed her look. Michel Menko was advancing +to salute Marsa Laszlo, and take with affectionate respect the hand which +Andras extended to him. + +Marsa coldly returned the low bow of the young man, and took no part in +the conversation which followed. Menko remained but a few moments, +evidently embarrassed at his reception; and after his departure, Zilah, +who had noticed the Tzigana's coldness, asked her if she knew his friend. + +"Very well," she said, in a peculiar tone. + +"It would be difficult to imagine so from the way in which you received +him," said Andras, laughing. "Poor Michel! Have you any reason to be +angry with him?" + +"None." + +"I like him very much. He is a charming boy, and his father was one of +my companions in arms. I have been almost a guardian to his son. We are +kinsmen, and when the young count entered diplomacy he asked my advice, +as he hesitated to serve Austria. I told him that, after having fought +Austria with the sword, it was our duty to absorb it by our talents and +devotion. Was I not right? Austria is to-day subservient to Hungary, +and, when Vienna acts, Vienna glances toward Pesth to see if the Magyars +are satisfied. Michel Menko has therefore served his country well; and I +don't understand why he gave up diplomacy. He makes me uneasy: he seems +to me, like all young men of his generation, a little too undecided what +object to pursue, what duty to fulfil. He is nervous, irresolute. We +were more unfortunate but more determined; we marched straight on without +that burden of pessimism with which our successors are loaded down. I am +sorry that Michel has resigned his position: he had a fine future before +him, and he would have made a good diplomatist." + +"Too good, perhaps," interrupted Marsa, dryly. + +"Ah, decidedly," retorted the Prince, with a smile, "you don't like my +poor Menko." + +"He is indifferent to me;" and the way in which she pronounced the words +was a terrible condemnation of Michel Menko. "But," added the Tzigana, +"he himself has told me all that you have said of him. He, on his side, +has a great affection and a deep veneration for you; and it is not +astonishing that it should be so, for men like you are examples for men +like him, and--" + +She paused abruptly, as if unwilling to say more. + +"And what?" asked the Prince. + +"Nothing. 'Examples' is enough; I don't know what I was going to say." + +She made a little gesture with her pretty hand as if to dismiss the +subject; and, after wondering a moment at the girl's singular reticence +after her previous frankness, Andras thought only of enjoying her grace +and charm, until the Tzigana gave him her hand and bade him good-night, +begging him to remember that she would be very happy and proud to receive +him in her own house. + +"But, indeed," she added, with a laugh which displayed two rows of pearly +teeth, "it is not for me to invite you. That is a terrible breach of the +proprieties. General!" + +At her call, from a group near by, advanced old General Vogotzine, whom +Zilah had not noticed since the beginning of the evening. Marsa laid her +hand on his arm, and said, distinctly, Vogotzine being a little deaf: + +"Prince Andras Zilah, uncle, will do us the honor of coming to see us at +Maisons-Lafitte." + +"Ah! Ah! Very happy! Delighted! Very flattering of you, Prince," +stammered the General, pulling his white moustache, and blinking his +little round eyes. "Andras Zilah! Ah! 1848! Hard days, those! All +over now, though! All over now! Ah! Ah! We no longer cut one +another's throats! No! No! No longer cut one another's throats!" + +He held out to Andras his big, fat hand, and repeated, as he shook that +of the Prince: + +"Delighted! Enchanted! Prince Zilah! Yes! Yes!" + +In another moment they were gone, and the evening seemed to Andras like a +vision, a beautiful, feverish dream. + +He sent away his coupe, and returned home on foot, feeling the need of +the night air; and, as he walked up the Champs-Elysees beneath the starry +sky, he was surprised to find a new, youthful feeling at his heart, +stirring his pulses like the first, soft touch of spring. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +"HAVE I NO RIGHT TO BE HAPPY" + +There was a certain womanly coquetry, mingled with a profound love of the +soil where her martyred mother reposed, in the desire which Marsa Laszlo +had to be called the Tzigana, instead of by her own name. The Tzigana! +This name, as clear cut, resonant and expressive as the czimbaloms of the +Hungarian musicians, lent her an additional, original charm. She was +always spoken of thus, when she was perceived riding her pure-blooded +black mare, or driving, attached to a victoria, a pair of bay horses of +the Kisber breed. Before the horses ran two superb Danish hounds, of a +lustrous dark gray, with white feet, eyes of a peculiar blue, rimmed with +yellow, and sensitive, pointed ears--Duna and Bundas, the Hungarian names +for the Danube and the Velu. + +These hounds, and an enormous dog of the Himalayas, with a thick, yellow +coat and long, sharp teeth, a half-savage beast, bearing the name of +Ortog (Satan), were Marsa's companions in her walks; and their submission +to their young mistress, whom they could have knocked down with one pat +of their paws, gave the Tzigana reputation for eccentricity; which, +however, neither pleased nor displeased her, as she was perfectly +indifferent to the opinion of the public at large. + +She continued to inhabit, near the forest of Saint-Germain, beyond the +fashionable avenues, the villa, ornamented with the holy Muscovite icon, +which Prince Tchereteff had purchased; and she persisted in remaining +there alone with old Vogotzine, who regarded her respectfully with his +round eyes, always moist with 'kwass' or brandy. + +Flying the crowded city, eager for space and air, a true daughter of +Hungary, Marsa loved to ride through the beautiful, silent park, down the +long, almost deserted avenues, toward the bit of pale blue horizon +discernible in the distance at the end of the sombre arch formed by the +trees. Birds, startled by the horses' hoofs, rose here and there out of +the bushes, pouring forth their caroling to the clear ether; and Marsa, +spurring her thoroughbred, would dash in a mad gallop toward a little, +almost unknown grove of oaks, with thickets full of golden furze and pink +heather, where woodcutters worked, half buried in the long grass peppered +with blue cornflowers and scarlet poppies. + +Or, at other times, with Duna and Bundas bounding before her, +disappearing, returning, disappearing again with yelps of joy, it was +Marsa's delight to wander alone under the great limes of the Albine +avenue--shade over her head, silence about her--and then slowly, by way +of a little alley bordered with lofty poplars trembling at every breath +of wind, to reach the borders of the forest. In ten steps she would +suddenly find herself plunged in solitude as in a bath of verdure, shade +and oblivion. The sweet silence surrounding her calmed her, and she +would walk on and on though the thick grass under the great trees. The +trunks of the giant oaks were clothed in robes of emerald moss, and wild +flowers of all descriptions raised their heads amid the grass. There was +no footstep, no sound; a bee lazily humming, a brilliant butterfly +darting across the path, something quick and red flashing up a tree-- +a squirrel frightened by the Danish hounds; that was all. And Marsa was +happy with the languorous happiness which nature gives, her forehead +cooled by the fresh breeze, her eyes rested by the deep green which hid +the shoes, her whole being refreshed by the atmosphere of peace which +fell from the trees. + +Then, calling her dogs, she would proceed to a little farmhouse, and, +sitting down under the mulberry trees, wait until the farmer's wife +brought her some newly baked bread and a cup of milk, warm from the cows. +Then she would remain idly there, surrounded by chickens, ducks, and +great, greedy geese, which she fed, breaking the bread between her white +fingers, while Duna and Bundas crouched at her feet, pricking up their +ears, and watching these winged denizens of the farmyard, which Marsa +forbade them to touch. Finally the Tzigana would slowly wend her way +home, enter the villa, sit down before the piano, and play, with +ineffable sweetness, like souvenirs of another life, the free and +wandering life of her mother, the Hungarian airs of Janos Nemeth, the sad +"Song of Plevna," the sparkling air of "The Little Brown Maid of +Budapest," and that bitter; melancholy romance, "The World holds but One +Fair Maiden," a mournful and despairing melody, which she preferred to +all others, because it responded, with its tearful accents, to a +particular state of her own heart. + +The girl was evidently concealing some secret suffering. The bitter +memory of her early years? Perhaps. Physical pain? Possibly. She had +been ill some years before, and had been obliged to pass a winter at Pau. +But it seemed rather some mental anxiety or torture which impelled the +Tzigana to seek solitude and silence in her voluntary retreat. + +The days passed thus in that villa of Maisons-Lafitte, where Tisza died. +Very often, in the evening, Marsa would shut herself up in the solitude +of that death-chamber, which remained just as her mother had left it. +Below, General Vogotzine smoked his pipe, with a bottle of brandy for +company: above, Marsa prayed. + +One night she went out, and through the sombre alleys, in the tender +light of the moon, made her way to the little convent in the Avenue Egle, +where the blue sisters were established; those sisters whom she often met +in the park, with their full robes of blue cloth, their white veils, a +silver medallion and crucifix upon their breasts, and a rosary of wooden +beads suspended at their girdles. The little house of the community was +shut, the grating closed. The only sign of life was in the lighted +windows of the chapel. + +Marsa paused there, leaning her heated brow against the cold bars of +iron, with a longing for death, and a terrible temptation to end all by +suicide. + +"Who knows?" she murmured. "Perhaps forgetfulness, deep, profound +forgetfulness, lies within these walls." Forgetfulness! Marsa, then, +wished to forget? What secret torture gave to her beautiful face that +expression so bitter, so terrible in its agony? + +She stood leaning there, gazing at the windows of the chapel. Broken +words of prayers, of muttered verses and responses, reached her like the +tinkling of far-off chimes, like the rustling of invisible wings. The +blue sisters, behind those walls, were celebrating their vesper service. + +Does prayer drive away anguish and heartrending memories? + +Marsa was a Catholic, her mother having belonged to the minority of +Tzigani professing the faith of Rome; and Tisza's daughter could, +therefore, bury her youth and beauty in the convent of the blue sisters. + +The hollow murmur of the verses and prayers, which paused, began again, +and then died away in the night like sighs, attracted her, and, like the +trees of the forest, gave her an impression of that peace, that deep +repose, which was the longed-for dream of her soul. + +But, suddenly, the Tzigana started, removed her gaze from the light +streaming through the blue and crimson glass, and hurried away, crying +aloud in the darkness: + +"No! repose is not there. And, after all, where is repose? Only in +ourselves! It can be found nowhere, if it is not in the heart!" + +Then, after these hours of solitude, this longing for the cloister, this +thirsting for annihilation and oblivion, Marsa would experience a desire +for the dashing, false, and frivolous life of Paris. She would quit +Maisons, taking with her a maid, or sometimes old Vogotzine, go to some +immense hotel, like the Continental or the Grand, dine at the table +d'hote, or in the restaurant, seeking everywhere bustle and noise, the +antithesis of the life of shade and silence which she led amid the leafy +trees of her park. She would show herself everywhere, at races, +theatres, parties--as when she accepted the Baroness Dinati's invitation; +and, when she became nauseated with all the artificiality of worldly +life, she would return eagerly to her woods, her dogs and her solitude, +and, if it were winter, would shut herself up for long months in her +lonely, snow-girt house. + +And was not this existence sweet and pleasant, compared with the life led +by Tisza in the castle of the suburbs of Moscow? + +In this solitude, in the villa of Maisons-Lafitte, Andras Zilah was again +to see Marsa Laszlo. He came not once, but again and again. He was, +perhaps, since the death of Prince Tchereteff, the only man General +Vogotzine had seen in his niece's house, and Marsa was always strangely +happy when Andras came to see her. + +"Mademoiselle is very particular when Prince Zilah is coming to Maisons," +said her maid to her. + +"Because Prince Zilah is not a man like other men. He is a hero. In my +mother's country there is no name more popular than his." + +"So I have heard Count Menko say to Mademoiselle." + +If it were the maid's wish to remove all happiness from her mistress's +face, she had met with complete success. + +At the name of Menko, Marsa's expression became dark and threatening. +Prince Andras had noticed this same change in the Tzigana's face, when he +was speaking to her at Baroness Dinati's. + +The Prince had forgotten no detail of that first fascinating interview, +at which his love for the Tzigana was born. This man, who had hardly any +other desire than to end in peace a life long saddened by defeat and +exile, suddenly awoke to a happy hope of a home and family joys. He was +rich, alone in the world, and independent; and he was, therefore, free to +choose the woman to be made his princess. No caste prejudice prevented +him from giving his title to the daughter of Tisza. The Zilahs, in +trying to free their country, had freed themselves from all littleness; +and proud, but not vain, they bore but slight resemblance to those +Magyars of whom Szechenyi, the great count, who died of despair in 1849, +said: "The overweening haughtiness of my people will be their ruin." + +The last of the Zilahs did not consider his pride humiliated by loving +and wedding a Tzigana. Frankly, in accents of the deepest love and the +most sincere devotion, Andras asked Marsa Laszlo if she would consent to +become his wife. But he was terrified at the expression of anguish which +passed over the pale face of the young girl. + +Marsa, Princess Zilah! Like her mother, she would have refused from a +Tchereteff this title of princess which Andras offered her, nay, laid at +her feet with passionate tenderness. But--Princess Zilah! + +She regarded with wild eyes the Prince, who stood before her, timid and +with trembling lips, awaiting her reply. But, as she did not answer, he +stooped over and took her hands in his. + +"What is it?" he cried; for Marsa's fingers were icy. + +It cost the young girl a terrible effort to prevent herself from losing +consciousness. + +"But speak to me, Marsa," exclaimed Andras, "do not keep me in suspense." + +He had loved her now for six months, and an iron hand seemed to clutch +the heart of this man, who had never known what it was to fear, at the +thought that perhaps Marsa did not return his love. + +He had, doubtless, believed that he had perceived in her a tender feeling +toward himself which had emboldened him to ask her to be his wife. But +had be been deceived? Was it only the soldier in him that had pleased +Marsa? Was he about to suffer a terrible disappointment? Ah, what folly +to love, and to love at forty years, a young and beautiful girl like +Marsa! + +Still, she made him no answer, but sat there before him like a statue, +pale to the lips, her dark eyes fixed on him in a wild, horrified stare. + +Then, as he pressed her, with tears in his voice, to speak, she forced +her almost paralyzed tongue to utter a response which fell, cruel as a +death-sentence, upon the heart of the hero: + +"Never!" + +Andras stood motionless before her in such terrible stillness that she +longed to throw herself at his feet and cry out: "I love you! I love +you! But your wife--no, never!" + +She loved him? Yes, madly-better than that, with a deep, eternal +passion, a passion solidly anchored in admiration, respect and esteem; +with an unconquerable attraction toward what represented, to her harassed +soul, honor without a blemish, perfect goodness in perfect courage, the +immolation of a life to duty, all incarnate in one man, radiant in one +illustrious name--Zilah. + +And Andras himself divined something of this feeling; he felt that Marsa, +despite her enigmatical refusal, cared for him in a way that was +something more than friendship; he was certain of it. Then, why did she +command him thus with a single word to despair? "Never!" She was not +free, then? And a question, for which he immediately asked her pardon by +a gesture, escaped, like the appeal of a drowning man, from his lips: + +"Do you love some one else, Marsa?" + +She uttered a cry. + +"No! I swear to you--no!" + +He urged her, then, to explain what was the meaning of her refusal, of +the fright she had just shown; and, in a sort of nervous hysteria which +she forced herself to control, in the midst of stifled sobs, she told him +that if she could ever consent to unite herself to anyone, it would be to +him, to him alone, to the hero of her country, to him whose chivalrous +devotion she had admired long before she knew him, and that now-- And +here she stopped short, just on the brink of an avowal. + +"Well, now? Now?" demanded Andras, awaiting the word which, in her +overstrung condition, Marsa had almost spoken. "Now?" + +But she did not speak these words which Zilah begged for with newly +awakened hope. She longed to end this interview which was killing her, +and in broken accents asked him to excuse her, to forgive her--but she +was really ill. + +"But if you are suffering, I can not, I will not leave you." + +"I implore you. I need to be alone." + +"At least you will permit me to come to-morrow, Marsa, and ask for your +answer?" + +"My answer? I have given it to you." + +"No! No! I do not accept that refusal. No! you did not know what you +were saying. I swear to you, Marsa, that without you life is impossible +to me; all my existence is bound up in yours. You will reflect there was +an accent in your voice which bade me hope. I will come again to-morrow. +Tomorrow, Marsa. What you have said to-day does not count. Tomorrow, +to-morrow; and remember that I adore you." + +And she, shuddering at the tones of his voice, not daring to say no, and +to bid him an eternal farewell, let him depart, confident, hopeful, +despite the silence to which she obstinately, desperately clung. Then, +when Andras was gone, at the end of her strength, she threw herself, like +a mad woman, down upon the divan. Once alone, she gave way utterly, +sobbing passionately, and then, suddenly ceasing, with wild eyes fixed +upon vacancy, to mutter with dry, feverish lips: + +"Yet--it is life he brings to me--happiness he offers me. Have I no +right to be happy--I? My God! To be the wife of such a man! To love +him--to devote myself to him-to make his existence one succession of +happy days! To be his slave, his thing! Shall I marry him? Or--shall +I kill myself? Kill myself!" with a horrible, agonizing laugh. "Yes, +that is the only thing for me to do. But--but--I am a coward, now that +I love him--a coward! a coward! a miserable wretch!" And she fell +headlong forward, crouching upon the floor in a fierce despair, as if +either life or reason was about to escape from her forever. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +"O LIBERTY! O LOVE! THESE TWO I NEED!" + +When Zilah came the next day he found Marsa perfectly calm. At first he +only questioned her anxiously as to her health. + +"Oh! I am well," she replied, smiling a little sadly; and, turning to +the piano at which she was seated, she began to play the exquisitely sad +romance which was her favorite air. + +"That is by Janos Nemeth, is it not?" asked the Prince. + +"Yes, by Janos Nemeth. I am very fond of his music; it is so truly +Hungarian in its spirit." + +The music fell upon the air like sighs--like the distant tones of a bell +tolling a requiem--a lament, poetic, mournful, despairing, yet ineffably +sweet and tender, ending in one deep, sustained note like the last clod +of earth falling upon a new-made grave. + +"What is that called, Marsa?" said Andras. + +She made no reply. + +Rising, he looked at the title, printed in Hungarian; then, leaning over +the Tzigana till his breath fanned her cheek, he murmured: + +"Janos Nemeth was right. The world holds but one fair maiden." + +She turned very pale, rose from the piano, and giving him her hand, said: + +"It is almost a madrigal, my dear Prince, is it not? I am going to be +frank with you. You love me, I know; and I also love you. Will you give +me a month to reflect? A whole month?" + +"My entire life belongs to you now," said the Prince. "Do with it what +you will." + +"Well! Then in a month I will give you your answer," she said firmly. + +"But," said Andras, smiling beneath his blond moustache, "remember that +I once, took for my motto the verses of Petoefi. You know well those +beautiful verses of our country: + + O Liberty! O Love! + These two I need. + My chosen meed, + To give my love for Liberty, + My life for Love. + +"Well," he added, "do you know, at this moment the Andras Zilah of +'forty-eight would almost give liberty, that passion of his whole life, +for your love, Marsa, my own Marsa, who are to me the living incarnation +of my country." + +Marsa was moved to the depths of her heart at hearing this man speak such +words to her. The ideal of the Tzigana, as it is of most women, was +loyalty united with strength. Had she ever, in her wildest flights of +fancy, dreamed that she should hear one of the heroes of the war of +independence, a Zilah Andras, supplicate her to bear his name? + +Marsa knew Yanski Varhely. The Prince had brought him to see her at +Maisons-Lafitte. She was aware that Count Varhely knew the Prince's most +secret thoughts, and she was certain that Andras had confided all his +hopes and his fears to his old friend. + +"What do you think would become of the Prince if I should not marry him?" +she asked him one day without warning. + +"That is a point-blank question which I hardly expected," said Yanski, +gazing at her in astonishment. "Don't you wish to become a Zilah?" + +Any hesitation even seemed to him insulting, almost sacrilegious. + +"I don't say that," replied the Tzigana, "but I ask you what would become +of the Prince if, for one reason or another--" + +"I can very easily inform you," interrupted Varhely. "The Prince, as you +must be aware, is one of those men who love but once during their lives. +Upon my word of honor, I believe that, if you should refuse him, he would +commit some folly, some madness, something--fatal. Do you understand?" + +"Ah!" ejaculated Marsa, with an icy chill in her veins. + +"That is my opinion," continued Yanski, harshly. "He is wounded. It +remains with you to decide whether the bullet be mortal or not." + +Varhely's response must have had great weight in Marsa Laszlo's +reflections, full of anguish, fever, revolt and despair as they were, +during the few weeks preceding the day upon which she had promised to +tell Prince Andras if she would consent to become his wife or not. It +was a yes, almost as curt as another refusal, which fell at last from the +lips of the Tzigana. But the Prince was not cool enough to analyze an +intonation. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, "I have suffered so much during these weeks of +doubt; but this happiness makes amends for all." + +"Do you know what Varhely said to me?" asked Marsa. + +"Yes, I know." + +"Well, since the Zilahs treat their love-affairs as they do their duels, +and risk their whole existence, so be it! I accept. Your existence for +mine! Gift for gift! I do not wish you to die!" + +He did not try to understand her; but he took her burning hands between +his own, and covered them with kisses. And she, with trembling lip, +regarded, through her long eyelashes, the brave man who now bent before +her, saying: "I love you." + +Then, in that moment of infinite happiness, on the threshold of the new +life which opened before her, she forgot all to think only of the +reality, of the hero whose wife she was to be. His wife! So, as in a +dream, without thinking, without resisting, abandoning herself to the +current which bore her along, not trying to take account of time or of +the future, loving, and beloved, living in a sort of charmed +somnambulism, the Tzigana watched the preparations for her marriage. + +The Prince, with the impatience of a youth of twenty, had urged an early +day for their union. He announced his engagement to the society, at once +Parisian and foreign, of which he formed a part; and this marriage of the +Magyar with the Tzigana was an event in aristocratic circles. There was +an aroma of chivalrous romance about this action of Prince Andras, who +was rich enough and independent enough to have married, if he had wished, +a shepherdess, like the kings of fairy tales. + +"Isn't it perfectly charming?" exclaimed the little Baroness Dinati, +enthusiastically. "Jacquemin, my dear friend, I will give you all the +details of their first meeting. You can make a delicious article out of +it, delicious!" + +The little Baroness was almost as delighted as the Prince. Ah! what a +man that Zilah was! He would give, as a wedding-gift to the Tzigana, the +most beautiful diamonds in the world, those famous Zilah diamonds, which +Prince Joseph had once placed disdainfully upon his hussar's uniform when +he charged the Prussian cuirassiers of Ziethen, sure of escaping the +sabre cuts, and not losing a single one of the stones during the combat. +It was said that Marsa, until she was his wife, would not accept any +jewels from the Prince. The opals in the silver agraffe were all she +wanted. + +"You know them, don't you, Jacquemin? The famous opals of the Tzigana? +Put that all in, every word of it." + +"Yes, it is chic enough." answered the reporter. "It is very romantic, +a little too much so; my readers will never believe it. Never mind, +though, I will write it all up in my best manner." + +The fete on board the steamer, given by the Prince in honor of his +betrothal, had been as much talked of as a sensational first night at the +Francais, and it added decidedly to the romantic prestige of Andras +Zilah. There was not a marriageable young girl who was not a little in +love with him, and their mothers envied the luck of the Tzigana. + +"It is astonishing how jealous the mammas are," said the Baroness, gayly. +"They will make me pay dearly for having been the matchmaker; but I am +proud of it, very proud. Zilah has good taste, that is all. And, as for +him, I should have been in love with him myself, if I had not had my +guests to attend to. Ah, society is as absorbing as a husband!" + +Upon the boat, Paul Jacquemin did not leave the side of the matchmaker. +He followed her everywhere. He had still to obtain a description of the +bride's toilettes, the genealogy of General Vogotzine, a sketch of the +bridegroom's best friend, Varhely, and a thousand other details. + +"Where will the wedding take place?" he asked the Baroness. + +"At Maisons-Lafitte. Oh! everything is perfect, my dear Jacquemin, +perfect! An idyl! All the arrangements are exquisite, exquisite! +I only wish that you had charge of the supper." + +Jacquemin, general overseer of the Baroness's parties in the Rue Murillo, +did not confess himself inferior to any one as an epicure. He would +taste the wines, with the air of a connoisseur, holding his glass up to +the light, while the liquor caressed his palate, and shutting his eyes as +if more thoroughly to decide upon its merits. + +"Pomard!" would slowly fall from his lips, or "Acceptable Musigny!" +"This Chambertin is really very fair!" "The Chateau Yquem is not half +bad!" etc., etc. And the next morning would appear in the reports, +which he wrote himself under various pseudonyms: "Our compliments to our +friend Jacquemin, if he had anything to do with the selection of the +wines, in addition to directing the rehearsals of the Baroness's +operetta, which latter work he most skilfully accomplished. Jacquemin +possesses talents of all kinds; he knows how to make the best of all +materials. As the proverb says, 'A good mill makes everything flour.'" + +Jacquemin had already cast an eye over the menu of the Prince's fete, and +declared it excellent, very correct, very pure. + + .................... + +The steamer was at last ready to depart, and Prince Zilah had done the +honors to all his guests. It started slowly off, the flags waving +coquettishly in the breeze, while the Tzigani musicians played with +spirit the vibrating notes of the March of Rakoczy, that triumphant air +celebrating the betrothal of Zilah, as it had long ago saluted the burial +of his father. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"IS FATE SO JUST?" + +"We are moving! We are off!" cried the lively little Baroness. "I hope +we shan't be shipwrecked," retorted Jacquemin; and he then proceeded to +draw a comical picture of possible adventures wherein figured white +bears, icebergs, and death by starvation. "A subject for a novel,-- +'The Shipwreck of the Betrothed.'" + +As they drew away from Paris, passing the quays of Passy and the taverns +of Point-du-jour, tables on wooden horses were rapidly erected, and +covered with snowy cloths; and soon the guests of the Prince were seated +about the board, Andras between Marsa and the Baroness, and Michel Menko +some distance down on the other side of the table. The pretty women and +fashionably dressed men made the air resound with gayety and laughter, +while the awnings flapped joyously in the wind, and the boat glided on, +cutting the smooth water, in which were reflected the long shadows of the +aspens and willows on the banks, and the white clouds floating in the +clear sky. Every now and then a cry of admiration would be uttered at +some object in the panorama moving before them, the slopes of Suresnes, +the black factories of Saint-Denis with their lofty chimneys, the red- +roofed villas of Asnieres, or the heights of Marly dotted with little +white houses. + +"Ah! how pretty it is! How charming!" + +"Isn't it queer that we have never known anything about all this? It is +a veritable voyage of discovery." + +"Ladies and gentlemen," cried, above the other voices, Jacquemin, whom +Zilah did not know, and to whom the Baroness had made him give a card of +invitation, "we are now entering savage countries. It is Kamtschatka, or +some such place, and there must be cannibals here." + +The borders of the Seine, which were entirely fresh to them, and which +recalled the pictures of the salon, were a delightful novelty to these +people, accustomed to the dusty streets of the city. + +Seated between the Prince and the Japanese, and opposite Varhely and +General Vogotzine, the Baroness thoroughly enjoyed her breakfast. Prince +Andras had not spared the Tokay--that sweet, fiery wine, of which the +Hungarians say proudly: "It has the color and the price of gold;" and the +liquor disappeared beneath the moustache of the Russian General as in a +funnel. The little Baroness, as she sipped it with pretty little airs of +an epicure, chatted with the Japanese, and, eager to increase her +culinary knowledge, asked him for the receipt for a certain dish which +the little yellow fellow had made her taste at a dinner given at his +embassy. + +"Send it to me, will you, Yamada? I will have my cook make it; nothing +gives me so much pleasure as to be able to offer to my guests a new and +strange dish. I will give you the receipt also, Jacquemin. Oh! it is +such an odd-tasting dish! It gives you a sensation of having been +poisoned." + +"Like the guests in Lucrezia Borgia," laughed the Parisian Japanese. + +"Do you know Lucrezia Borgia?" + +"Oh, yes; they have sung it at Yokohama. Oh! we are no longer savages, +Baroness, believe me. If you want ignorant barbarians, you must seek the +Chinese." + +The little Japanese was proud of appearing so profoundly learned in +European affairs, and his gimlet eyes sought an approving glance from +Paul Jacquemin or Michel Menko; but the Hungarian was neither listening +to nor thinking of Yamada. He was entirely absorbed in the contemplation +of Marsa; and, with lips a little compressed, he fixed a strange look +upon the beautiful young girl to whom Andras was speaking, and who, very +calm, almost grave, but evidently happy, answered the Prince with a sweet +smile. + +There was a sort of Oriental grace about Marsa, with her willowy figure, +flexible as a Hindoo convolvulus, and her dark Arabian eyes fringed with +their heavy lashes. Michel Menko took in all the details of her beauty, +and evidently suffered, suffered cruelly, his eyes invincibly attracted +toward her. In the midst of these other women, attired in robes of the +last or the next fashion, of all the colors of the rainbow, Marsa, in her +gown of black lace, was by far the loveliest of them all. Michel watched +her every movement; but she, quiet, as if a trifle weary, spoke but +little, and only in answer to the Prince and Varhely, and, when her +beautiful eyes met those of Menko, she turned them away, evidently +avoiding his look with as much care as he sought hers. + +The breakfast over, they rose from the table, the men lighting cigars, +and the ladies seeking the mirrors in the cabin to rearrange their +tresses disheveled by the wind. + +The boat stopped at Marly until it was time for the lock to be opened, +before proceeding to Maisons-Lafitte, where Marsa was to land. Many of +the passengers, with almost childish gayety, landed, and strolled about +on the green bank. + +Marsa was left alone, glad of the silence which reigned on the steamer +after the noisy chatter of a moment ago. She leaned over the side of the +boat, listening idly to the swish of the water along its sides. + +Michel Menko was evidently intending to approach her, and he had made a +few steps toward her, when he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. He +turned, thinking it was the Prince; but it was Yanski Varhely, who said +to the young man: + +"Well, my dear Count, you did right to come from London to this fete. +Not only is Zilah delighted to see you, but the fantastic composition of +the guests is very curious. Baroness Dinati has furnished us with an +'ollapodrida' which would have pleased her husband. There is a little of +everything. Doesn't it astonish you?" + +"No," said Michel. "This hybrid collection is representative of modern +society. I have met almost all these faces at Nice; they are to be seen +everywhere." + +"To me," retorted Yanski, in his guttural voice, "these people are +phenomena." + +"Phenomena? Not at all. Life of to-day is so complicated that the most +unexpected people and events find their place in it. You have not lived, +Varhely, or you have lived only for your idol, your country, and +everything amazes you. If you had, like me, wandered all over the world, +you would not be astonished at anything; although, to tell the truth"-- +and the young man's voice became bitter, trenchant, and almost +threatening--" we have only to grow old to meet with terrible surprises, +very hard to bear." + +As he spoke, he glanced, involuntarily perhaps, at Marsa Laszlo, leaning +on the railing just below him. + +"Oh! don't speak of old age before you have passed through the trials +that Zilah and I have," responded Varhely. "At eighteen, Andras Zilah +could have said: 'I am old.' He was in mourning at one and the same time +for all his people and for our country. But you! You have grown up, my +dear fellow, in happy times. Austria, loosening her clutch, has +permitted you to love and serve our cause at your ease. You were born +rich, you married the most charming of women"-- + +Michel frowned. + +"That is, it is true, the sorrow of your life," continued Varhely. "It +seems to me only yesterday that you lost the poor child." + +"It is over two years, however," said Michel, gravely. "Two years! How +time flies!" + +"She was so charming," said old Yanski, not perceiving the expression of +annoyance mingled with sadness which passed over the young man's face. +"I knew your dear wife when she was quite small, in her father's house. +He gave me an asylum at Prague, after the capitulation signed by Georgei. +Although I was an Hungarian, and he a Bohemian, her father and I were +great friends." + +"Yes," said Menko, rapidly, "she often spoke of you, my dear Varhely. +They taught her to love you, too. But," evidently seeking to turn the +conversation to avoid a subject which was painful to him, "you spoke of +Georgei. Ah! our generation has never known your brave hopes; and your +grief, believe me, was better than our boredom. We are useless +encumberers of the earth. Upon my word, it seems to me that we are +unsettled, enfeebled, loving nothing and loving everything, ready to +commit all sorts of follies. I envy you those days of battle, those +magnificent deeds of 'forty-eight and 'forty-nine. To fight thus was to +live!" + +But even while he spoke, his thin face became more melancholy, and his +eyes again sought the direction of Prince Andras's fiancee. + +After a little more desultory conversation, he strolled away from +Varhely, and gradually approached Marsa, who, her chin resting on her +hand, and her eyes lowered, seemed absorbed in contemplation of the +ceaseless flow of the water. + +Greatly moved, pulling his moustache, and glancing with a sort of +uneasiness at Prince Andras, who was promenading on the bank with the +Baroness, Michel Menko paused before addressing Marsa, who had not +perceived his approach, and who was evidently far away in some day-dream. + +Gently, hesitatingly, and in a low voice, he at last spoke her name: + +"Marsa!" + +The Tzigana started as if moved by an electric shock, and, turning +quickly, met the supplicating eyes of the young man. + +"Marsa!" repeated Michel, in a humble tone of entreaty. + +"What do you wish of me?" she said. "Why do you speak to me? You must +have seen what care I have taken to avoid you." + +"It is that which has wounded me to the quick. You are driving me mad. +If you only knew what I am suffering!" + +He spoke almost in a whisper, and very rapidly, as if he felt that +seconds were worth centuries. + +She answered him in a cutting, pitiless tone, harsher even than the +implacable look in her dark eyes. "You suffer? Is fate so just as that? +You suffer?" + +Her tone and expression made Michel Menko tremble as if each syllable of +these few words was a blow in the face. + +"Marsa!" he exclaimed, imploringly. "Marsa!" + +"My name is Marsa Laszlo; and, in a few days, I shall be Princess Zilah," +responded the young girl, passing haughtily by him, "and I think you will +hardly force me to make you remember it." + +She uttered these words so resolutely, haughtily, almost disdainfully, +and accompanied them with such a flash from her beautiful eyes that Menko +instinctively bowed his head, murmuring: + +"Forgive me!" + +But he drove his nails into the palm of his clenched hand as he saw her +leave that part of the boat, and retire as far from him as she could, as +if his presence were an insult to her. Tears of rage started into the +young man's eyes as he watched her graceful figure resume its former +posture of dreamy absorption. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A RIVER FETE + +Close alongside of the Prince's boat, waiting also for the opening of the +lock, was one of those great barges which carry wood or charcoal up and +down the Seine. + +A whole family often lives on board these big, heavy boats. The smoke of +the kitchen fire issues from a sort of wooden cabin where several human +beings breathe, eat, sleep, are born and die, sometimes without hardly +ever having set foot upon the land. Pots of geranium or begonia give a +bit of bright color to the dingy surroundings; and the boats travel +slowly along the river, impelled by enormous oars, which throw long +shadows upon the water. + +It was this motionless barge that Marsa was now regarding. + +The hot sun, falling upon the boat, made its brown, wet sides sparkle +like the brilliant wings of some gigantic scarabee; and, upon the +patched, scorched deck, six or seven half-naked, sunburned children, boys +and girls, played at the feet of a bundle of rags and brown flesh, which +was a woman, a young woman, but prematurely old and wasted, who was +nursing a little baby. + +A little farther off, two men-one tough and strong, a man of thirty, whom +toil had made forty, the other old, wrinkled, white-haired and with skin +like leather, father and grandfather, doubtless, of the little brats +beyond--were eating bread and cheese, and drinking, turn by turn, out of +a bottle of wine, which they swallowed in gulps. The halt was a rest to +these poor people. + +As Marsa watched them, she seemed to perceive in these wanderers of the +river, as in a vision, those other wanderers of the Hungarian desert, her +ancestors, the Tzigani, camped in the puszta, the boundless plain, +crouched down in the long grass beneath the shade of the bushes, and +playing their beautiful national airs. She saw the distant fires of the +bivouac of those unknown Tzigani whose daughter she was; she seemed to +breathe again the air of that country she had seen but once, when upon a +mournful pilgrimage; and, in the presence of that poor bargeman's wife, +with her skin tanned by the sun, she thought of her dead, her cherished +dead, Tisza. + +Tisza! To the gipsy had doubtless been given the name of the river on +the banks of which she had been born. They called the mother Tisza, in +Hungary, as in Paris they called the daughter the Tzigana. And Marsa was +proud of her nickname; she loved these Tzigani, whose blood flowed in her +veins; sons of India, perhaps, who had descended to the valley of the +Danube, and who for centuries had lived free in the open air, electing +their chiefs, and having a king appointed by the Palatine--a king, who +commanding beggars, bore, nevertheless, the name of Magnificent; +indestructible tribes, itinerant republics, musicians playing the old +airs of their nation, despite the Turkish sabre and the Austrian police; +agents of patriotism and liberty, guardians of the old Hungarian honor. + +These poor people, passing their lives upon the river as the Tzigani +lived in the fields and hedges, seemed to Marsa like the very spectres of +her race. More than the musicians with embroidered vests did the poor +prisoners of the solitary barge recall to her the great proscribed family +of her ancestors. + +She called to the children playing upon the sunbeaten deck: "Come here, +and hold up your aprons!" + +They obeyed, spreading out their little tattered garments. "Catch +these!" she cried. + +They could not believe their eyes. From the steamer she threw down to +them mandarins, grapes, ripe figs, yellow apricots, and great velvety +peaches; a rain of dainties which would have surprised a gourmand: the +poor little things, delighted and afraid at the same time, wondered if +the lady, who gave them such beautiful fruit, was a fairy. + +The mother then rose; and, coming toward Marsa to thank her, her sunburnt +skin glowing a deeper red, the poor woman, with tears in her tired eyes, +and a wan smile upon her pale lips, touched, surprised, happy in the +pleasure of her children, murmured, faltering and confused: + +"Ah! Madame! Madame! how good you are! You are too good, Madame!" + +"We must share what we have!" said Marsa, with a smile. "See how happy +the children are!" + +"Very happy, Madame. They are not accustomed to such things. Say 'Thank +you,' to the beautiful lady. Say 'Thank you,' Jean; you are the oldest. +Say like this: 'Thank-you-Ma-dame.'" + +"Thank-you-Ma-dame" faltered the boy, raising to Marsa big, timid eyes, +which did not understand why anybody should either wish him ill or do him +a kindness. And other low, sweet little voices repeated, like a refrain: +"Thank-you-Ma-dame." + +The two men, in astonishment, came and stood behind the children, and +gazed silently at Marsa. + +"And your baby, Madame?" said the Tzigana, looking at the sleeping +infant, that still pressed its rosy lips to the mother's breast. "How +pretty it is! Will you permit me to offer it its baptismal dress?" + +"Its baptismal dress?" repeated the mother. + +"Oh, Madame!" ejaculated the father, twisting his cap between his +fingers. + +"Or a cloak, just as you please," added Marsa. + +The poor people on the barge made no reply, but looked at one another in +bewilderment. + +"Is it a little girl?" asked the Tzigana. + +"No, Madame, no," responded the mother. "A boy." + +"Come here, jean," said Marsa to the oldest child. "Yes, come here, my +little man." + +Jean came forward, glancing askance at his mother, as if to know whether +he should obey. + +"Here, jean," said the young girl, "this is for your baby brother." + +And into the little joined hands of the boy, Marsa let fall a purse, +through whose meshes shone yellow pieces of gold. + +The people of the barge thought they were dreaming, and stood open- +mouthed in amazement, while Jean cried out: + +"Mamma, see, mamma! Mamma! Mamma!" + +Then the younger bargeman said to Marsa: + +"Madame, no, no! we can not accept. It is too much. You are too good. +Give it back, Jean." + +"It is true, Madame," faltered his wife. "It is impossible. It is too +much." + +"You will cause me great pain if you refuse to accept it," said Marsa. +"Chance has brought us together for a moment, and I am superstitious. +I would like to have the little children pray that those I love--that the +one I love may be happy." And she turned her eyes upon Prince Andras, +who had returned to the deck, and was coming toward her. + +The lock was now opened. + +"All aboard!" shouted the captain of the steamer. + +The poor woman upon the barge tried to reach the hand of Marsa to kiss +it. + +"May you be happy, Madame, and thank you with all our hearts for your +goodness to both big and little." + +The two bargemen bowed low in great emotion, and the whole bevy of little +ones blew kisses to the beautiful lady in the black dress, whom the +steamer was already bearing away. + +"At least tell us your name, Madame," cried the father. "Your name, that +we may never forget you." + +A lovely smile appeared on Marsa's lips, and, in almost melancholy +accents, she said: + +"My name!" Then, after a pause, proudly: "The Tzigana!" + +The musicians, as she spoke, suddenly struck up one of the Hungarian +airs. Then, as in a flying vision, the poor bargemen saw the steamer +move farther and farther away, a long plume of smoke waving behind it. + +Jacquemin, hearing one of those odd airs, which in Hungary start all feet +moving and keeping time to the music, exclaimed: + +"A quadrille! Let us dance a quadrille! An Hungarian quadrille!" + +The poor people on the barge listened to the music, gradually growing +fainter and fainter; and they would have believed that they had been +dreaming, if the purse had not been there, a fortune for them, and the +fruit which the children were eating. The mother, without understanding, +repeated that mysterious name: "The Tzigana." + +And Marsa also gazed after them, her ears caressed by the czardas of the +musicians. The big barge disappeared in the distance in a luminous haze; +but the Tzigana could still vaguely perceive the little beings perched +upon the shoulders of the men, and waving, in sign of farewell, pieces of +white cloth which their mother had given them. + +A happy torpor stole over Marsa; and, while the guests of the Baroness +Dinati, the Japanese Yamada, the English heiresses, the embassy attaches, +all these Parisian foreigners, led by Jacquemin, the director of the +gayety, were organizing a ballroom on the deck, and asking the Tzigani +for polkas of Fahrbach and waltzes of Strauss, the young girl heard the +voice of Andras murmur low in her ear: + +"Ah! how I love you! And do you love me, Marsa?" + +"I am happy," she answered, without moving, and half closing her eyes, +"and, if it were necessary for me to give my life for you, I would give +it gladly." + +In the stern of the boat, Michel Menko watched, without seeing them, +perhaps, the fields, the houses of Pecq, the villas of Saint-Germain, +the long terrace below heavy masses of trees, the great plain beside +Paris with Mont Valerien rising in its midst, the two towers of the +Trocadero, whose gilded dome sparkled in the sun, and the bluish-black +cloud which hung over the city like a thick fog. + +The boat advanced very slowly, as if Prince Andras had given the order to +delay as much as possible the arrival at Maisons-Lafitte, where the whole +fete would end for him, as Marsa was to land there. Already, upon the +horizon could be perceived the old mill, with its broad, slated roof. +The steeple of Sartrouville loomed up above the red roofs of the houses +and the poplars which fringe the bank of the river. A pale blue light, +like a thin mist, enveloped the distant landscape. + +"The dream is over," murmured Marsa. + +"A far more beautiful one will soon begin," said Andras, "and that one +will be the realization of what I have waited for all my life and never +found--love." + +Marsa turned to the Prince with a look full of passionate admiration and +devotion, which told him how thoroughly his love was returned. + +The quadrille had ended, and a waltz was beginning. The little Japanese, +with his eternal smile, like the bronze figures of his country, was +dancing with a pre-raphaelite English girl. + +"How well you dance," she said. + +"If we only had some favors," replied the Japanese, showing his teeth in +a grin, "I would lead the cotillon." + +The boat stopped at last at Maisons-Lafitte. The great trees of the park +formed a heavy mass, amid which the roof of the villa was just +discernible. + +"What a pity it is all over," cried the Baroness, who was ruddy as a +cherry with the exercise of dancing. "Let us have another; but Maisons- +Lafitte is too near. We will go to Rouen the next time; or rather, I +invite you all to a day fete in Paris, a game of polo, a lunch, a garden +party, whatever you like. I will arrange the programme with Yamada and +Jacquemin." + +"Willingly," responded the Japanese, with a low bow. "To collaborate +with Monsieur Jacquemin will be very amusing." + +As Marsa Laszlo was leaving the boat, Michel Menko stood close to the +gangway, doubtless on purpose to speak to her; and, in the confusion of +landing, without any one hearing him, he breathed in her ear these brief +words: + +"At your house this evening. I must see you." + +She gave him an icy glance. Michel Menko's eyes were at once full of +tears and flames. + +"I demand it!" he said, firmly. + +The Tzigana made no reply; but, going to Andras Zilah, she took his arm; +while Michel, as if nothing had happened, raised his hat. + +General Vogotzine, with flaming face, followed his niece, muttering, as +he wiped the perspiration unsteadily from his face: + +"Fine day! Fine day! By Jove! But the sun was hot, though! Ah, and +the wines were good!" + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +A man's life belongs to his duty, and not to his happiness +All defeats have their geneses +Foreigners are more Parisian than the Parisians themselves +One of those beings who die, as they have lived, children +Playing checkers, that mimic warfare of old men +Superstition which forbids one to proclaim his happiness +The Hungarian was created on horseback +There were too many discussions, and not enough action +Would not be astonished at anything +You suffer? Is fate so just as that + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Prince Zilah, v1 +by Jules Claretie + |