CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Mathias Raby kept as far as possible out of Vienna society after hisarrival in the capital. He never appeared at Court, and rented a modestapartment in Paternoster Street without giving his address to anyone. Itwas not only that he wanted to be undisturbed so as to fulfil adifficult and important work, but that he felt that a turning-point inhis life had come, which implied a momentous decision on his part.
His common-sense told him that so far the tragedy which he had livedthrough was only a huge jest for the Vienna public, who enjoy nothing sowell as a joke. That the bold Magyars had played off this trick on theEmperor himself made the whole jest all the grimmer. For them itmattered not one jot who the victim was, as long as they had theirlaugh.
So Raby avoided his nearest friends, and even reading the papersirritated him. With so many big affairs going on in the world, what didpeople care about the Szent-Endre happenings, or the machinations of thePesth government authorities, at a time when in the East, Russia wasshaking the Ottoman power to its foundations, and the rising of theGerman Netherlands was threatening Austria with the loss of her finestprovince, whilst like an ever darkening storm-cloud, the FrenchRevolution was already lowering on the political horizon. With suchcontingencies, Szent-Endre affairs might well go to the wall.
Raby worked so unremittingly at his task, that by the beginning ofJanuary, he could hand over his report to the Emperor.
It was a straggling and long-winded, but exhaustive, document. To makethe tangled threads hold together and get a grip of the facts was nolight business, but at last the bill of indictment was drawn up.
Nor were the Pesth authorities, meantime, slow in preferring theircounter impeachment against Raby, and a black one it was--instigator ofrebellion, breaker of the peace, calumniator of the council--he was allthese, and much more according to this weighty indictment which broughtforward as many arguments to prove the case against him, as Raby hadadduced against his adversaries.
It was between them the Emperor had now to judge, and that impartially,as justice demanded, and not swayed by his own feelings.
Raby handed his report to his imperial master, and gave him a briefsketch of the contents, and the proofs of his charges, the Emperorlistening intently the while. Joseph held in his hand thecounter-indictment.
Then he said: "I will consider the whole report carefully. Till I amready to see you again, take this document and read it at your leisure.I have glanced through it, and by letting you read it, I shall show toyou that my trust in you is still unshaken. If you can bring it back tome, faithfully deny all the charges it contains, and prove that they arefalse, I will tell off two of my most trusted police-agents to lookafter your personal safety, protect you against the wiles of yourenemies, and procure for you all the witnesses and documents you need toestablish your innocence. But if you find one serious indictment againstyou which can be substantiated, then say no more about it; I promise youI will not ask any questions, for what has hitherto happened may havebeen through my own fault in dealing with this people. At the St.Petersburg Embassy there will soon be a legation-secretary wanted; itwould be just the berth for you! I'll give you to the end of the monthto think it over. At our next meeting it depends on you to say whetheryou go to Pesth or Petersburg."
And with these words the Emperor dismissed Raby.
And what better offer could he have had? A new life in a new countrywhere all the old unhappy past could be for ever blotted out andforgotten, with no remaining links to bind him to his old days. Nothingmore tempting could the Emperor have suggested.
He took the fatal indictment with him, and returned home to study itscontents--and a bitter reading it made. By turns he laughed at thehorrible tragicomedy, and then ground his teeth in rage at the stupidityand malice of it all; the whole thing was put together with such agrotesque lack of reason. The heaped-up charges would have sufficed tocondemn the accused over and over again, and Raby hardly recognisedhimself in this double-dyed traitor, who had been guilty of almost everycrime. There would be no judge living who, had such charges been proven,would not have passed on him without mercy the capital sentence. And tothink that this avalanche of lies had been heaped up by those for whomhe was labouring to free from oppression, those for whom he had sufferedso much, and was still suffering, who were now vilifying him as atraitor.
At that moment he was very nearly throwing over the cause of the peoplefor good and all, and fleeing to a country where he should never hearthe name of his native land again.
And then a terrible struggle began in Raby's soul. On one side all hisvanity and self-respect rose in arms to urge him to flight. Was he tolabour without reward for this miserable people, and make its mostdistinguished leaders his enemies? Was his name to be dragged in themire through the length and breadth of the land to gratify theirmalice? Could he not turn his back on it all, and find in a foreigncapital that field for his gifts where they would have a worthy scopefor their display, and be cherished and rewarded? Fame and wealth on theone hand, misery and disgrace on the other, and at best, the doubtfulcredit of the informer--that was the choice!
Long did the two strive for mastery, and darker and more hateful grewthe picture of what he might expect if he returned to his self-imposedwork. Was it not better to root out from his soul all thoughts of hisfatherland?
And in the midst of it all there arrived Mariska's letter, which was theonly one of all his missives he opened and read just then.
Twice, thrice, he read it, with its too well-understood appeal: "Do notcome back again!" And her words decided him.
And indeed if Raby had not, after reading it, sprung up and cried, "NowI will go back!" he had not been worthy of having his history written inthis record.
What if he owed it not to his people or his prince to go back, at leasthe owed it to Mariska, and he would remember his debt. To her, at least,he would prove that he was a man who did not turn his back on danger,but went boldly forth to brave it when duty and his country called, andto justify himself at that country's tribunal.
And what love did not the letter breathe for him for whom she wroteit--no gross earthly passion, but rather the pure love of a devotedsister for a brother, of a tender mother who seeks to ward danger fromthe head of a dearly loved son--that was love as Mariska felt it.
And Raby thought sorrowfully how many anxious hours that letter musthave cost her poor little head, ere she could clothe her thoughts inwords and achieve the difficult task of reporting faithfully herfather's ideas--ideas which must of necessity have been hard for hergirlish mind to grasp in their fulness, much more to put on paper.
And like a horrible nightmare arose the thought of that other woman whohad betrayed her husband, and as if to make herself still more unworthyin his eyes, had flaunted her shamelessness by masquerading in man'sattire.
And the temptation suddenly arose to procure the deed of separationwhich the free and easy Protestant marriage laws made only too possible,and forswear the solemn tie that bound him to Fruzsinka. But he put itfrom him as one more temptation to be resisted, not less powerfulbecause it came from within instead of from without.
Poor Mariska, how the aim of her well-meant letter had failed! It was tohave just the contrary effect she had intended.
After reading it again, Raby hesitated no longer, but took the documentsunder his arm, hastened to the palace, sought the Emperor's presence,and said simply, "All that stands written here is false from beginningto end! I beg your Majesty to send me back to Pesth."
"Good," said the Emperor, "and if they dare to lay a hand on you, I willcome myself and set you free."