THE FLIGHT.
On the morning of the 13th August we> were free men—citizens of & country that we defended in arms.
On the 14th we awoke (those, at least, who had slept) as prisoners in the Russian camp. We were well1 treated, for the Russians always wish to appear to strangers as a civilized nation; and although, according to the saying of Napoleon, the Tartar is always to he found in them, one must give them credit for their efforts to seem civilized, even when they do not Suc
ceed. In our case, besides this national whim, they wished to show us the difference between themselVes and the Austrians, and to mark their profound con
tempt for the latter. We went about the camp freely;
we kept our swords; and were continually invited and caressed. One day, as I and several of my comrades were at supper with one of the generals, a head ap
peared at the window. In such a multitude as Was formed by the army and its prisoners, food was often scarce; and the person who sprung into the room was
a Hungarian officer in search of a supper. The gene
ral invited him, and asked his name.
“ Count T--- said the stranger.
“ Then is it you, or one of your family,” asked the general, “ who travelled in Russia? I have often heard your name.”
“ It was I,” replied the count, delighted to find himself known.
“ Then it was also you who carried off my cousin ?”
responded our host.
“ General, I cannot deny it,” said our crestfallen comrade, for he expected to be shot, at least.
“ It makes no difference, count! You did us a great favour in ridding her family of h e r; and so to supper.”
We heard continually of the sympathy of the Kus- sians for the Hungarians*—of their desire to see our country independent, with a Grand Duke as King, of which, it must be said, the Austrians were much afraid.
But, despite so many honied words and the good treat
ment we received, they conducted us slowly towards the fortress of Arad, which had already surrendered.
The last days of the march were very painful. The*
heat on the plain was overpowering, and cholera made terrible ravages in a crowd pent up in a very restricted space. The men died, like locusts, without being cared for. The chiefs were indifferent: the human Article is so common in Russia! But for us, not so
THE FLIGHT. 63 hardened, it was very painful to see even our enemies perish thus, and to hear their cries of distress during the night. The prisoners also suffered, hut not so much, being accustomed to the climate.
At length the Russian camp was pitched on the Maros opposite Arad. The prisoners were divided into sections, and successively handed over to the Austrians, who took them into the fortress without declaring their intentions. This lasted several days, At first we made no resistance, but at last some of the younger among us began to think whether it would not be possible to avoid a prison by flight. I was not the last to conceive this notion. We went about at our pleasure; our word was not pledged; and since I had tasted liberty and the life of the camp, I had a, horror of the seminary where I had passed so many years, and I abhorred a prison yet more. Happily for me, the section in which I had been included was one of the last, or I should have been in the fortress before I had time to mature my plan,
I had but forty-eight hours more, and there was even a rumour that all the prisoners would be given up the next day. This caused some confusion among pur guards, who had never watched us closely, I seized an opportunity, after supping with some Russian officers, to leave them as if to take a w alk; I gradually passed the line of the sentinels, who paid little attention to the escape of a prisoner, and thei*
darted on under cover of the night. I obtained a disguise from the first peasant I met, and at dawn I found myself far from the Russian lines, free and alone on the steppe.
Hungary was Stunned, overpowered by the unex
pected surrender of Yilagos. Freed from my cap
tivity, yet cast down myself after so many months of continuous excitement, I saw with despair that there did not remain strength enough in the country even to curse. To escape had been my last effort, and On seeing the mournful aspect of my country, I experienced a natural reaction. I f at this moment the Emperor of Austria had come to Hungary and granted a genCrOus amnesty, he would have become the most popular sove
reign in Europe; any constitution he might have given would have been accepted with joy, and our Country would rise no more. He preferred wallowing in blood.
For our country"s future we owe him gratitude.
Few as yet divined the fate reserved for the de
fenders of our holy cause, hut all guessed that severity would he used, from the pains taken to seize the fugitives, and the punishments denounced against all who should assist their flight. B ut neither fear of punishment nor hope of gain caused any betrayal of the laws of hospitality. During my wandering life, which lasted several weeks, I was hidden in twenty different places, I was sheltered by nobles in their vast manor-houses filled with people, by peasants in
THE FLIGHT. 66 their poor solitary cottages on the plain; but never did I feel suspicion of my host or of those who sur
rounded him. Never when the pursuit grew hot was 1 allowed to depart till a safer asylum had been found for me. Not I alone can bear this witness—every fugitive could say the same. At several castles many were received at once—not one was given up.
One day in September I was on the steppe towards evening with my friend Count Aladar, a fugitive like myself from the Russian camp, both overcome by despair for our country. Distinguished for his soldierly qualities in the camp of Georgey, Aladar would never accept a higher rank than that of captain, because he said he wished to perform all his duties, which he did not feel sure of doing in a superior position. We were waiting for Ladislas C--- , a man whose name our country will long recollect with pride, and who loved us both like a father. He did not keep us waiting, and spoke to us for a long time words never to be forgotten.
“ Children/’ he said, “ the days we endure are days of heavy tria l; but believe an old man, there will come a better, though perhaps distant, time, and then the country will rise again. You are both young-—you can wait for this blessed epoch, for you will then be still in the flower of your age. It is therefore your duty to struggle with your grief, and reserve yourselves for the day in which our beloved country will need you.
F
Swear then to me—I ask and require it—swear, if necessary, to take every means to escape, and await in exile with patience and faith the hour of resurrection.
J)o not doubt that it will strike/’
He was sitting on the ground, in the middle of the plain, near a well, leaning against the post; the setting sun gilded his white hair and long heard, giving him the air of a prophet. His brow betrayed no grief but that which he felt for the country, and his voice was low and calm. Stretched at his feet, our hands in his, we pronounced our vow. He blessed us, and con
tinued :—
“ For me, I am old. This time I could do some
thing; but before the resurrection, I should break down. I could not bear absence from my native land, nor the hardships which will be your lot. My life can no longer be of use. I will therefore give it for Hungary. When I leave you, I shall surrender to the Austrians. I know I shall be hanged, but I am re
signed, for I also know that in dying for my country I shall bear witness to the sanctity of her cause, which I feel is not lost for ever."
In vain did we attempt to dissuade him. “ Why this remonstrance?" he answered, gently. “ I am happier than you in having the right not to see the disasters of my country, and to die where I have lived.
Dp your duty, and let me accomplish mine. What
THE FLIGHT. 67 signifies my life in this catastrophe of our Hungary ? The hardest part is to leave you.”
He clasped us to his heart, and went away slowly, forbidding us to follow him—yet turning hack often to wave a last farewell, till he was lost in the mist, We, too, then parted, to fulfil our oath, and when I next saw Aladar it was in exile.
C--- acted as he had announced. He entered the nearest town, gave his name, and surrendered. His trial was hastily concluded, and he was hanged on the 8th of October. He walked fo execution, a cigar in his mouth, always true to his antique character of firmness and simplicity. Honour to thee, noble old man !
We, his sons by affection, have obeyed him, hut we shall not see the dawn he announced to us. The trial is long and hard. Alad&r has already sunk under it. But eighteen months ago I laid him in his tomb, and I know not what feeling tells me that within two years of his death Azrael will have kissed my brow.
* * * * *
Austria had hut held her hand in expectation of the surrender of Kom&rom, which she obtained by the offer of most honourable conditions. The fortress capitulated on the 4th, the executions began on the 6th October. On the same day perished Louis Batthyani
F 2
at Pesth, thirteen generals at Arad; and this massacre was hut a prelude. Within three months, by the end of the year, a thousand persons, perhaps, died on the scaffold; thousands more were condemned to twenty and thirty years of ca rcere duro. All that the most cruel enemy can devise to satisfy his hate, was exer
cised by the soldiers of the emperor against the land he now calls his beloved Hungary. To Hungary the tidings of the massacre was as a glass of water to a fainting man ; the blood of the martyrs sank into the heart of the nation, strengthening it as dew refreshes the parched-up earth.
All was despair and discouragement before the 6th October. Afterwards, the mourning was deep, scarce a family hut had a relation or a friend put to death, or languishing in a dungeon. But an electric spark ran through the nation, and every one said, “ The German can no longer he king in Hungary, he has dug an abyss between himself and us. Let us wait and have faith.” My heroic country has waited and believed seven years already, with calm dignity, for her faith is in her heart, and she has no need to convince herself that she lives by vain risings within, or use
less polemics abroad; and she does not shrink, though some of her exiles have given way, and sued for grace.
She loves those who endure their cross to the end, and her crowns will he for them alone. Her hour will come ; let the world judge of her then.
THE FLIGHT. 69 I saw this change come over her. It was sudden, as if God had breathed upon the country, whispering his message in every ear. I had my share and locked it in my heart, as a relic of supreme power. I still believe in it with full conviction. I am not of those who will gather in the harvest; I shall sleep in the land of exile. But even thus it is well. When my country is free, will not merciful Nature permit a throb to wake my frozen heart; will not the dew, dropping more softly on my head, tell me that Hungary is free? If that could he, I would fain sleep—but no ! if I can attain it I would have my part in the struggle, I alone have the mission of avenging my brother! I shall not attain th a t!
Let me return to my personal narrative. The drama is over, the heroes are slain, I have only now to speak of myself. But who cares for me ? No one, perchance ! Then I will take so much interest in myself that I shall want no other sympathy. Yet I have been loved—but who knows ?
With great difficulty my family had obtained a French passport for me; hut to profit by it I had to reach Vienna, and for me, as for all the other fugitives, it was not difficult to remain hidden in Hungary, hut very difficult to leave i t ; and my parents, already sorely tried, were more timid than any one. At length, an Austrian general, a noble heart, deserving a better fate than to be a German (and who greatly
rejoiced at our victories during the war), who in his youth had been my father’s rival, and had still pre
served a tender interest for my mother after her marriage, wrote to her, saying he would fain have saved her eldest son, and to prove this, he offered to take me to Vienna, and insure my escape thence.
Too happy, my poor mother at once accepted the offer of the general, and he came to her house under the pretext of searching for fugitives. His presence was a guarantee against police visits, and I was thus enabled to return home, hut for fear of his staff, whom the general himself could not trust in such an enter
prise as saving a Hungarian, I was hidden in my sister’s apartments.
What a night was the last I spent in H ungary!
It was long since I had seen my family, and in what a situation did we meet again ; my poor little sister, too delicate for such painful emotions, shed floods of tears; my mother was yet more touching, for her eyes were dry, hut her whitened hair told her grief 5 and my old father, always noble and dignified, re
strained himself with the calmness of despair. I cannot speak of our farewell—it would be profanation.
The next day, our old general having despatched his officers with different orders, set off for Vienna, taking me as his servant. Thus disguised, and my fair hair dyed black, I passed the frontier unques
tioned, and took my last farewell gaze at Hungary,
THE FLIGHT. *1 through a heavy wintry mist, and cast my first glance forward on exile. I seemed to tear myself again from my mother, yet I did not guess what destiny awaited me. I had no idea of exile. Had I known what it is, I would have surrendered myself like C---. An e x ile! Why did I become an exile ?
* * * * *
At Vienna, my protector made me take my pass
port, and conducting me to the railway station, remained with me till the train started, promising to return at once to Hungary, to assure my mother of my safety. The excellent man was happy to have served her.
I travelled without stopping till I reached the land of safety. I arrived at Berlin before the dawn of a December morning, after a journey of three days and nights. I know not how it happens, but persons habitually ill-washed never feel dirty, whereas those who bathe regularly, if they are deprived of water for twenty-four hours imagine they are incrusted with dirt, although this phenomenon could not possibly have occurred so soon. However this happens, is a question I leave to philosophers, while I recommend the fact to their observation. As soon as I had found a room at an hotel, and left my portmanteau, my firfct ihoUght was to seek for a vapour-bath. Having found one, I exulted at the idea of being again clean, with
out recollecting that my hair had been dyed. I was
reminded of the circumstance by feeling black drops fall on my forehead, and seeing that I was half dark, half fair. The transformation once begun, it was impos
sible to stop half-way, and in an hour I returned to my hotel quite another man, and foreseeing that my identity would be questioned. Happily, my passport made no mention of my complexion.
As I imagined, on asking for my room, I was told it was kept for a gentleman who had gone out. I claimed my identity, describing the things I had left in the room. At length, after much dispute, my assertion that the sleepy porter had made a mistake in supposing me dark, and that I had always been as fair as I undoubtedly was on my return from the bath, was believed. I escaped evil consequences; hut I learned then, and still better since, that an exile in disguise should not he so scrupulous as to cleanliness.
Had this adventure happened in Austria, I should have been taken.
I hastened, however, to quit Berlin, lest any suspi
cion should revive. I crossed Germany without any other adventure worth recording, whether sad or gay, and arriving in France in ^he beginning of 1860, I went to Q--- , to my mother’s relations, to whom she had hid me present myself, and by whom I was received with the greatest kindness. They did their best to console me, for all I had endured, by infinite care and affection; but the gipsy life of the camp had
THE FLIGHT. 73 made an ineffaceable impression on me, and the pro
vincial life in France was too different from that in Hungary.
I spent four months with my relations at Q--- . My stay, pleasant at first, soon became insupportable, from its extreme dulness. Nothing can be more uniform than French provincial life, and I felt this especially, being of an impetuous disposition, and after the war it would have required a completely different excite
ment to dispel my melancholy. I have, besides, learnt by experience that unoles, and aunts, and cousins, whether male or female (unless one is in love with the latter, for relationship is then a great advantage), are a race from whom it is as well to stand aloof. Besides this, my worthy relations were so resolved to treat me as a priest, that I knew not what to do. I shocked them every moment by things I did, which the most venerable prelate in Hungary would have done without fear of scandal. I was obliged continually to bite my lips, not to utter some jesting word, to submit to French ideas of propriety which I could not
ment to dispel my melancholy. I have, besides, learnt by experience that unoles, and aunts, and cousins, whether male or female (unless one is in love with the latter, for relationship is then a great advantage), are a race from whom it is as well to stand aloof. Besides this, my worthy relations were so resolved to treat me as a priest, that I knew not what to do. I shocked them every moment by things I did, which the most venerable prelate in Hungary would have done without fear of scandal. I was obliged continually to bite my lips, not to utter some jesting word, to submit to French ideas of propriety which I could not