CHAPTER VIII.
DEATH FOR A KISS.
Paul Beldi went straight from Fehervár to Bodola: all the way he was tortured by the thought which Teleki's words had revived.
In itself, a kiss is a very harmless thing. But what if another knows of it or has perceived it? Then indeed it becomes the pole of our suspicion, round which the mind weaves a whole pandemonium of doubts and guesses. We begin to think what might have led up to it, and what it may lead to. And in this case another did know of it. The husband had reasoned with himself: a kiss of which nobody knows anything makes no rent in a wife's virtue--and behold! it is in every one's mouth already. And perhaps they don't stop there. Perhaps while he, fond fool! imagined his honour in safe keeping, the world with a loud Ha, ha! has long been dragging it through the mire, and his ear is the very last to catch the insulting laugh. And that his mortal foe, too, should be at the bottom of it!
Night had fallen. The horses were tired out. Beldi had nowhere given them rest, nowhere changed them for fresh ones. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He wanted to meet face to face the woman who had so disgraced him, heaven only knew how much! But why be content to see a woman weep or die, when there was a man on whom vengeance could be taken? A man who had ever been his foe, from the time when they had been pages together at Prince Gabriel Bethlen's court, and had now fastened on the most sensitive spot in his heart and ruthlessly torn it.
"Turn back," he cried to the coachman, "and go in the direction of Klausenburg."
The old servant shook his head; turned into a side-path, and so completely lost himself in the darkness of the night, that he was forced to confess to his master that he really did not know where he was.
Beldi's rage and impatience knew no bounds. Looking about him, he perceived a small light burning at no great distance, and sulkily bade his coachman drive in that direction.
It was into the courtyard of a lonely country-house that they rolled at last, and Beldi recognized in the master of the house, who appeared at the barking of the large watch-dogs, old Adam Gyergyai, one of his dearest friends, who, when he saw Beldi, rushed into his arms, and was beside himself with joy.
"God be with you!" said the good old man, covering his guest with kisses. "I will not ask what piece of good fortune has brought you to me."
"To tell the truth, I've lost my way. I was on the road to Klausenburg. I must get there to-night; but I'll rest my horses here for an hour or two if you'll let me."
"What pressing business is this you have on hand?"
"I must deliver a message," replied Beldi evasively.
"If that be all, why so much hurry? Write it down, and one of my mounted servants shall immediately take it to its destination while you remain here."
"You are right," said Beldi, after some reflection; "it will be better to send a letter," and with that he asked for writing materials, sat down, and wrote to Banfi.
The mere act of writing generally clears and calms the mind, so that it was in a fairly moderate tone that Beldi challenged Banfi to meet him at Szamos-Ujvar on an affair of honour. Beldi then sealed the letter and gave it to Gyergyai, requesting him to forward it at once.
"So you are writing to Banfi, my brother?" said the old man, looking at the address of the letter. "Why, you only parted from him a little time ago! What is all this between you?"
"Do you recollect the time, my father," said Beldi, "when you saw Banfi and me fight together in the lists at the tournament held by Prince George Rakoczy?"
"Quite well! On that occasion you had both vanquished every other competitor, but could do nothing against each other."
"You then said that you would very much like to see which of the two would beat the other if we set to it in earnest."
"Yes; I well remember it."
"Well, now you _shall_ see!"
Gyergyai looked Beldi in the face.
"My brother, I know not what this letter contains, but I can guess your thoughts from your face. My father used to say that a letter written in wrath should never be sent off the same day, but should be put under one's pillow and slept upon. The advice is not bad; follow it, and send off the letter to-morrow morning, for, to be candid with you, I won't send it to-night."
Beldi followed the old man's advice. He put the letter under his pillow, lay down, went to sleep, and dreamt that he was in the bosom of his family, saw his wife and children, and was very happy. It was only the rolling of his carriage into the courtyard next morning which woke him out of his slumbers. The first thing that occurred to him was his letter to Banfi. He broke the seal, read the letter through again, and was much ashamed that he had ever written such a letter.
"Where was your common-sense, Beldi?" he asked himself, tore the letter to pieces, and threw it into the fire. "How the world would have laughed at me!" thought he. "An old fool, to take it into his head all at once to be jealous of the mother of his children!--and for the sake of a kiss too given in drunkenness and rejected with indignation. What a weapon I should have put into Banfi's hands, had I led him to suppose that I was jealous of my wife on his account."
"Let us go to Bodola," said he very gently to his coachman, and with that he took leave of his host.
"But how about that pressing letter of yours?" asked Gyergyai anxiously.
"I have already sent it--up the chimney," replied Beldi, smiling, and set out on his journey with feelings very different from those with which he had started.
So you see a man can be drunk without wine!
While still some distance from Bodola, he could see all the members of his family looking out for him on the castle terrace, and no sooner did they perceive his carriage, than they hastened down to greet him. He met them all in the park, wife and children; they threw themselves on his neck with cries of joy, and he kissed them all, one after another, over and over again; but his warmest embraces were for his darling wife, who smiled up at him with a radiant face, which he could not feast his eyes upon enough. It seemed to him as if her eyes were brighter, her features more enchanting, her lips sweeter than ever they had been.
"What a fool a man is, to be sure," thought Beldi, "who, when his wife is out of sight, is capable of supposing everything bad of her, and when she stands before his eyes cannot make too much of her."
In the abandonment of his joy he did not at first perceive that there was a strange face in the family circle--a handsome, stately young Turk, with frank and noble features, not unlike an Hungarian.
"You do not even notice me, or perhaps you forget me," said the youth, stepping in front of Beldi.
Beldi looked at him. The youth's features were familiar to him, and yet he could not recall his name till his youngest daughter, Aranka, who was dangling on her father's arm, remarked archly--
"What! Not recognize Feriz Beg, papa! Why, I knew him at the first glance."
Beldi at once held out his hand and heartily greeted the youth, whose manly features however wore a grave and serious look.
"My father sends me to you on an urgent errand," said he, "and had you not come, I must have gone to seek you, for my message admits of no delay."
Beldi was struck by the youth's earnest tone, and on reaching the castle immediately took him aside into a private room, and there the young Beg handed him a parchment roll tied round with silken cord, and sealed with a yellow seal. Beldi broke the seal and read as follows--
"The blessing and protection of heaven rest upon you and your family!--Transylvania is in great danger. The Sultan is enraged at the war which Denis Banfi wages with the Pasha of Grosswardein. They say that this great noble is in league with the Emperor. See to it that the land chastises Banfi, the power to do so is still your own. But if the Prince cannot, or will not punish him, the Sultan has sworn to drive the pair of them out of the realm, and convert Transylvania into a Turkish Pachalic. The Pashas of Grosswardein and Temesvar, the Lord-Marchers, and the Tartar Khan have been ordered to hold themselves in readiness to invade Transylvania from all sides at a moment's notice. Put a bit therefore in the mouth of this great lord, for death hangs over your heads on the film of a spider's web.
"Your friend and brother,
"KUCSUK PASHA."
Beldi's face grew dark as he read this letter. So it was all in vain that he had driven Banfi's name out of his head. This letter conjured up that odious form once more before his eyes.
He folded up the parchment and gave the grave youth a brief answer to take back with him--
"Let your father know that we will take the necessary steps to avert the threatened evil, and thank him heartily for his warning."
Feriz Beg immediately quitted Bodola Castle. Beldi remained alone in his room, pacing to and fro in a brown study, and racking his brains to find a way out of the danger. He could find none. It was not to be expected that Banfi's pride would yield to the Pasha, especially after a brilliant victory and in a just cause; and yet the welfare of the land required the sacrifice of the just cause.
Brooding thus, he did not notice that somebody was tapping at his door, who after thrice knocking and receiving no answer, opened it, and as Beldi suddenly came to himself and looked around him with a start, he perceived Michael Teleki standing before him. So amazed was Beldi by this apparition, that for the moment the power of speech forsook him.
"You appear surprised," said Teleki, observing his amazement. "You are astonished that I should travel such a long way to see you, after parting from you only twenty-four hours ago. But great events have taken place in the meantime. Transylvania is threatened by a danger which must be averted as quickly as possible."
"I know it," replied Beldi, and putting his hand over the signature, he let Teleki read Kucsuk's letter.
"Great heaven!" exclaimed the minister. "You know more than I did. But what I want to say on this matter is a secret which the very walls around us may not hear."
"I understand," replied Beldi, and immediately commanded his heydukes to admit no one into the vestibules; placed guards in front of the windows, and drew the curtains down to the ground. There now only remained a little tapestried door, at the back of the room, which led through a narrow corridor to his wife's bed-chamber, an arrangement very common, at that time, in the mansions of Hungarian magnates. By way of additional precaution Beldi closed this door also.
"Does your Excellency feel secure enough now?" asked Beldi.
"One thing more. Give me your word of honour that if what I am about to disclose does not meet with your approbation, you will at least keep it secret."
"I promise," returned Beldi, impatiently awaiting the _dénouement_ of all this mystery.
Teleki thereupon drew forth a long strip of parchment, unfolded it, and held it before Beldi's eyes, without however letting it out of his hands.
It was the league against Banfi, signed and sealed by the Prince.
The more Beldi read of this document, the blacker grew his looks, till at last, turning his face away, he pushed the document aside with an expression of deep disgust.
"Sir," said he, "'tis a dirty piece of work!"
Teleki was prepared for some such answer, and summoned to his aid all the sophistry of which he was so perfect a master.
"Beldi!" cried he, "we must, for once, put aside all narrow-minded sentiment. Here it is a question of the end and not of the means. The means may seem bad, but we really have no other. Whenever a subject becomes so powerful in a state that the arm of the law is no longer able to bring him to justice, then I say he has only himself to blame if the state is compelled to conspire against him. He whom the axe of the executioner cannot reach, must fall beneath the dagger of the bravo. Denis Banfi, by despising the Prince's commands and waging war on his own account, has placed himself outside the law. In such a case, where the ordinary tribunals become inoperative, we must of course have resort to secret tribunals. If any one injures me, and the law can give me no remedy, I make use of my own weapons, and shoot him down wherever I meet him. If the country is injured by any one whom it cannot punish, it must fall back upon the _jus ligatum_, and lay hands upon him whenever and wherever it can. The commonweal requires, the common danger compels such a step."
"We are in the hands of God!" replied Beldi. "If 'tis His will to destroy the fatherland, we can only bow the head and die in defence of our freedom with a good conscience. But never ought we to lift our hands against the liberties we have inherited from our forefathers. Rather let us endure the wrongs which spring from those liberties, than lay the axe to the root of them ourselves! Rather let war and strife burst over the land, than conspire against the laws! That may cost the nation its blood; but this will destroy its very soul. I disapprove of this league, and, sir, I mean to oppose it!"
At these words Michael Teleki rose from his seat, sank down upon his knees before Beldi, raised his hands to heaven, and cried--
"I swear by the living God, that as I hope for my own and my family's protection and happiness here and for salvation hereafter, that what I now do, I do as your loyal friend, well knowing that all Banfi's efforts aim at the ruin of your house, and I solemnly adjure you, as you love your life and the lives of your wife and children, to avert the impending danger by signing the league. I have now done all in my power to save you and my country, and that too at my own risk and peril. I have no other object. Before God I lie not!"
Beldi turned with calm dignity towards the minister, and said, in a tone of immovable conviction--
"_Fiat justitia, pereat mundus!_"
* * * * *
A few moments after Teleki's arrival at Bodola, a mounted heyduke had galloped into the courtyard; it was Andrew, Dame Apafi's faithful old servant, who handed to Dame Beldi a letter from the Princess, adding that the message was doubly urgent, as he already perceived in the courtyard Teleki's coachman, whom he ought to have forestalled.
Dame Beldi hastily opened the letter and read as follows--
"DEAR SISTER--
"Michael Teleki has set out for Bodola to see your husband. His aim is to secretly ruin Banfi by the hand of Beldi. The magnates have conspired together to break the law. Fortunately, every one of them has a wife, and in the hearts of our women the better feelings of human nature are not yet extinguished. I have charged each one of them to preserve their husbands from Teleki's wiles; but 'tis to you that I chiefly look for help. Beldi is the most eminent of them all. If he joins the league, the rest will follow his example; but he is also the most honourable of men and the best of husbands. I count upon your firmness. Move heaven and earth!
"Your loving sister,
"ANNA BORNEMISSA."
On reading this letter, Dame Beldi almost swooned.
Teleki had already been closeted with her husband for more than half-an-hour, and the servants had brought word that every one had been ordered away, even from the passages leading to the room. In an instant she divined everything. Terror seized her. Perhaps it was already too late! But what could she do? Suddenly, the secret corridor occurred to her, which led from her bedroom to her husband's. Urged by fear, she rapidly traversed the corridor, reached the tapestried door, stood still before it with a beating heart, and listened. She could only hear Teleki, and he was speaking in an unusually excited voice, which rose almost to a scream. She looked through the keyhole, and beheld the minister on his knees before her husband with uplifted hands, endeavouring to move him by solemn oaths.
Such a sight made Dame Beldi perfectly frantic. What must it be that could make a man so proud and so exalted kneel down before Beldi? What is he swearing so vehemently? Suddenly Banfi's name struck on her ear; she turned pale with horror, and at the same instant she heard Beldi say the words--"_Fiat justitia, pereat mundus!_" Ignorant as she was of the Latin language, she at once jumped to the conclusion that her husband had yielded, and in her desperation pressed hard upon the door-latch, and finding it immovable, shook the door furiously, exclaiming wildly at the same time--
"My husband! My beloved lord! Lord of my soul! Give no heed to Teleki's words, for he would ruin you."
Both the men started at this passionate cry, and Beldi rose from his seat, went to the door, opened it, and cried angrily to his wife--
"Go to your work, woman! You have no business here."
Then Dame Beldi lost her presence of mind altogether. Fear did not allow her to reflect. The idea that her husband was consenting to Teleki's schemes rendered her incapable of grasping the situation; and she forgot that the most complaisant of husbands, rather than see his uxoriousness paraded before the world, will do violence to his better nature. So Dame Beldi rushed wildly into the room, sank down at her husband's feet, convulsively clasped his knees, and cried in a voice of passionate remonstrance--
"Sweet lord of my heart! I adjure you not to believe in that man. Don't be led away. He would bring down innocent blood upon your head. You are too just and merciful to become a headsman."
"Get up, woman! You are mad!"
"Oh! I know what I'm saying. I saw him kneel to you. He who believes in God, kneels not to man. He would ruin Denis Banfi through you. Woe betide us if you help him! For if Banfi be the first, you will assuredly be the second."
When Teleki saw his secret design thus exposed, he grew wroth.
"If my wife were to treat me so," cried he passionately, "I would tear her eyes out. If any one came to me with a saving word of friendship on his tongue, I would thank him for it, and not allow my wife to lead me by the nose."
Beldi turned furiously upon his wife and ordered her out.
"I'll remain here even if you kill me, for 'tis a matter of life or death. When the peace of my family is at stake, I think 'tis time for me to speak. I beg, I implore you to hear me. I'll not allow you to sacrifice Banfi."
Beldi was already so ashamed of this onslaught on his marital authority that he was nearly beside himself; but when his wife began to plead for Banfi, he started back as if an adder had bitten him.
This did not escape Teleki, and with malicious innuendo he exclaimed--
"It seems to me that wives forget _some things_ much sooner than their husbands."
Quick as lightning the dart pierced through Beldi's soul. The recollection of that kiss came back to him. Pale and speechless, he seized his wife's arm; her loud sobs only inflamed his jealousy, and dragging her to the tapestried door, he pushed her out and closed it behind her. There she remained, lying on the threshold, loudly cursing the Prince's minister, and hammering at the closed door with her fists.
Beldi, pale as death, sat down at the table, gnashed his teeth, and whispered huskily--
"Where's the document?"
Teleki spread out the parchment roll before him on the table.
Beldi took up his pen without a word, and wrote his name in a bold hand beneath that of Michael Apafi.
A triumphant smile played around Teleki's lips.
No sooner was the deed done than something in Beldi's breast began to accuse him. Resting his hand on the document, he turned with a very grave face towards Teleki.
"I expressly stipulate," he murmured, in a hollow voice, "that if Banfi be arrested, right and justice shall be done to him, according to the law of the land."
"Quite so! Of course!" returned the Prince's counsellor, making a snatch at the document.
Still Beldi would not let it go.
"Sir," said he, "promise me that you will not secretly assassinate Banfi; but that when once he is arrested you will proceed against him before the proper Court of Justice, and in the usual, legitimate way. If you don't guarantee me that, I'll tear this parchment to pieces and throw it into the fire, together with my own and the Prince's signatures."
"I promise it to you on my word of honour," replied the minister, inwardly smiling at the man who was so weak so long as he stood upright, and made such a brave show of firmness when he had already fallen.
That same day Teleki hastened with the subscribed league to Ladislaus Csaky, and from him to Haller, and from him to the Bethlens. As soon as they saw Beldi's name, they signed the document without more ado, for all of them hated Banfi.
In every case the wives intervened. Terrible scenes took place. Nowhere did Teleki escape scot-free. But the league was successfully carried through, and that was, after all, the main thing.
And thus it was that Transylvania dug her own grave.