The Baron's Sons Part 15

CHAPTER XI.

THE FIRST STEP.

Three days after the betrothal a county a.s.sembly was held under the presidency of Administrator Rideghvary.

At an early hour the white feathers and the black--the badges of the Progressive and the Conservative parties respectively--began to appear. But not only were white and black feathers conspicuous; loaded canes, also, and stout cudgels were seen peeping out from overhanging mantles, to be brought forth in case some convincing and irrefutable argument should be needed in the heat of debate.

Punctually at nine o'clock Rideghvary called the meeting to order. The Progressives had planned an energetic protest against an alleged unconst.i.tutionality in the administration, and their best speakers were primed for the occasion, hoping to bring the matter to a vote.

The Conservatives, on their part, had summoned to their aid all the most tiresome and long-winded speakers to be found in the neighbouring counties, to kill the motion.

Nevertheless, the white feathers held their ground, being determined to sit the meeting out if it lasted all night, and well knowing that, the moment the chairman should note any preponderance of blacks in the hall, he would put the question to vote and it would be lost.

Therefore they kept their places patiently until it came the turn of their chief orator, Tormandy, to speak.

When he rose to address the a.s.sembly, the black feathers seemed to unite in an effort to silence him, disputing his every statement and making constant interruptions. But Tormandy was not to be disconcerted. If a hundred voices shouted in opposition, his stentorian tones still made themselves heard above the uproar. In the heat of debate it could not but occur that an occasional word escaped the speaker's lips that would have been called unparliamentary in any other deliberative body, and a repet.i.tion of the offence would have necessitated the speaker's taking his seat. Not so here, however. As soon as Tormandy's ardour had betrayed him into the utterance of an unusually insulting expression, Tallerossy and his comrades immediately set upon him, like a pack of hounds after the game, and called out in concert: "_Actio, Actio!_" Thereupon the a.s.sembly, _stante sessione_, pa.s.sed judgment on the case and imposed a fine.

Tormandy, however, was not so easily put down. Coolly drawing out his pocketbook, he threw down two hundred florins,--the usual fine,--and continued his philippic. Upon a second interruption of the same kind, he merely threw down another two hundred, without pausing in his speech. And so he continued his oration, interspersed with occasional invectives, until he had emptied his pocketbook and surrendered his seal ring and his insignia of n.o.bility in pledge of payments still lacking. His speech, however, was finished; he had succeeded in saying what he had to say, to the very last word. But his concluding sentences were drowned in an uproar. Deafening huzzas on one side, and shouts of "Down with him!" on the other, turned the meeting into a veritable pandemonium, each party trying in vain to drown its opponents' cries.

Meanwhile the presiding administrator sat unmoved, listening to the uproar as an orchestra conductor might listen to the performance of his musicians.

The customary tactics of the Conservatives had failed. In the first place, there were more white feathers than black in the hall.

Secondly, the former were not to be routed from their position either by the high temperature of the room,--it would have almost hatched ostrich eggs,--or by the pangs of hunger, or by the long-winded harangues of their opponents. Thirdly, they refused to be silenced by any fines; they paid and spoke on. Fourthly, both parties seemed disinclined to begin a fight,--a diversion which hitherto had commonly resulted in the white feathers abandoning the field and taking flight through doors and windows. A fifth expedient still remained,--the adjournment of the meeting.

Rideghvary rang his bell, and was beginning to explain, in a low tone, that the excessive noise and confusion made further debate impossible, when suddenly he found himself speaking amid a hush so profound that one could have heard a pin drop.

"To what noise and confusion does the chairman refer?" asked Tormandy, with a smile.

Rideghvary perceived that the meeting was under other control than his own. The white feathers had received orders to hush every sound the moment they heard the chairman's bell; their opponents, observing that their leader was trying to make himself heard, would voluntarily become silent. Thus it was that the chairman found himself completely outwitted.

"I admit, there is no noise now," said he, "but as soon as the debate is resumed, the uproar will begin again, and therefore I claim the right, as presiding officer, to adjourn the meeting."

But not even then did the result follow which he had expected. The storm did not break out again; the emergency had been foreseen, and all his stratagems were too well known to catch his enemies napping.

Tormandy first broke the silence. "Mr. President," said he, rising and calmly addressing the chair, "I beg to propose that, if the chairman declines to preside longer over this meeting, we proceed to elect a subst.i.tute, after which we will continue our debate."

A hundred voices were raised in approval of this suggestion, and as many against it. The cries increased until confusion and uproar were again supreme. a.s.suming a stern expression and leaning forward over his table, Rideghvary tried to make himself heard.

"This is an open affront," he declared, "a violation of the law. But it lies in my power to put an end to such unbridled license. If the members oppose the adjournment of the meeting I shall call for their expulsion by force of arms."

"We will stand our ground," shouted back Tormandy, crossing his arms and facing the administrator defiantly.

But the latter had resources still in reserve. Summoning the sheriff, he bade him clear the hall, whereupon that officer threw open the folding doors behind the president's chair and revealed a body of men standing there with drawn swords, ready to do his bidding. Both the sheriff and his posse were creatures of the administrator.

In the first moment of surprise every one thought this must be a joke of some sort, so many years had pa.s.sed since swords had been drawn in a county a.s.sembly. But when one and another zealous patriot was seen to fall wounded beside the green table, and b.l.o.o.d.y blades were brandished before their eyes, all took fright in earnest. The next moment, however, the scene changed. Some of the young Progressives drew their swords and ranged themselves against the sheriff's posse.

Such a clas.h.i.+ng of steel and din of battle then ensued as had never before been heard in a meeting of that kind,--and all under the eye of the presiding officer, and, apparently, with his approval.

But what speedily followed was not so much to his liking. The valiant young wearers of the white feather soon succeeded in driving the sheriff and his force into a corner, where they struck the swords out of their hands, and sent the men themselves flying through the windows. At that moment a newcomer opened the door and entered the hall.

It was odon Baradlay. In his rich mourning attire, and with stern displeasure on his brow, he looked like an angry G.o.d. Without uncovering,--whether from forgetfulness or design,--he advanced to the president's chair, his face flushed with wrath and his eyes flas.h.i.+ng resentment. Rideghvary eyed him askance, like the jackal that suddenly encounters a tiger in the forests of India.

"I hold you responsible for this shameful occurrence, which will stand as a disgrace to our country before the world," declared odon, sternly confronting the occupant of the chair.

"Me responsible?" cried Rideghvary, his voice betraying a mixture of anger, haughtiness, alarm, and astonishment.

"Yes, you!" repeated the other, and, laying his hand on the back of the president's chair, he shook it in the excess of his wrath. "And now leave this seat," he continued. "This is the chair that my ancestors have occupied, and only during my father's illness were you authorised to take his place. The lord lieutenant is well again."

At these words there was an outburst of cheers in every part of the hall,--yes, in every part. Those familiar with Hungarian political a.s.semblies will recall many a similar instance where one fearless stroke has gained the admiration and support of all parties. Likes and dislikes, political prejudices and private interests, are all forgotten, and the whole a.s.sembly is swept off its feet as one man--whither, no one asks.

Such a miracle was wrought on the present occasion. Rideghvary read only too plainly in the faces of his partisans and hirelings that his rule was at an end. Here was no place for him now. Pale with shame and fury, he rose from his chair. With one look of wrath and hatred at the a.s.sembly, he turned to odon and, with l.u.s.t for revenge in his tones, muttered between his teeth:

"This is the first step to that height of which I have warned you."

odon measured him with a look of scorn. He knew well enough from his mother what height was meant, but he deigned no reply.

The door closed upon the administrator, and the young lord lieutenant took the president's chair amid the huzzas of all present. Then at length he removed his fur cap. His action had been, it must be admitted, unconst.i.tutional, since he had not yet been installed as lord lieutenant, and so was unqualified to a.s.sume the duties of the office. But the enthusiasm which greeted his appearance was warm and genuine, and he accepted it as a sanction of his course. His had been a bold stroke, and one pregnant with results for himself, for his county, for his native land,--yes, for his generation. But it succeeded. His action formed a turning-point in his country's history.

Whither the course he had adopted would lead, he knew not, and no little courage was called for in facing its possible issue.

What else occurred in that a.s.sembly is simply a matter of history, but the glory of that day belongs to odon Baradlay.

CHAPTER XII.

SPRING DAYS.

It was the 13th of March, 1848, the day of the popular uprising in Vienna.

The Plankenhorst parlours were even on that day filled with their usual frequenters; but instead of piano-playing and gossip, entertainment was furnished by the distant report of musketry and the hoa.r.s.e cries of the mob. Every face was pale and anxious, and all present were eager to learn the latest news from any newcomer.

At length, toward evening, the secretary of the police department entered. His mere outward appearance indicated but too well that things were going badly for the government. Instead of his official uniform, he wore a common workman's blouse, and his face was pale and careworn. As soon as he was recognised in his disguise, all pressed around him for the latest tidings.

"Well, are you sweeping the streets?" asked the high official of the commissary department, in anxious haste.

"There is no making head against the rascals," answered the secretary in a trembling voice. "I have just left the office and only escaped by means of this disguise. The mob has broken into the building, thrown down the statue of Justice, and wrecked the censor's office."

"But, for heaven's sake, can't more soldiery be sent out against them?"

"We have soldiers enough, but the emperor will not permit any more bloodshed. He is displeased that any lives at all should have been sacrificed."

"But why ask his permission? He is too tender-hearted by far. Let the war department manage that."

"Well, you go and tell them how to do it," returned the secretary petulantly. "What is to be done when the soldiers fire in such a way that a whole platoon volley fails to hit a single man? In St. Michael Square I saw with my own eyes the cannoneers stick their slow-matches into the mud, and heard them declare they wouldn't fire on the people."