The Child Wife

The revolutionary era had ended; tranquillity was restored; and peace reigned throughout Europe.

But it was a peace secured by chains, and supported by bayonets.

Manin was dead, Hecker an exile in transatlantic lands, Blum had been murdered – as also a score of other distinguished revolutionary leaders.

But there were two still surviving, whose names caused uneasiness to despotism from the Baltic to the Mediterranean – from the Euxine to the Atlantic.

These names were Kossuth and Mazzini.

Despite the influence used to blacken them – the whole power of a corrupted press – they were still sounds of magical import; symbols that at any day might stir up the peoples to strike one other blow for freedom. More especially was this true of Kossuth. Some rashness shown by Mazzini – a belief that his doctrines were too red– in other words, too far advanced for the time – stinted the confidence of the more moderate in the liberal party.

It was otherwise with the views of Kossuth. These had all along been strictly in accordance with conservatism – aiming only at national independence upon a presumed republican basis. Of the république rouge et démocratique talked of in France, he had never given assent to the rouge, and but partially to the démocratique.

If the future historian can ever find flaw in the character of Kossuth, it will be in the fact of his having been too conservative; or rather too national, and not enough developed in the idea of a universal propagandism.

Too much was he, as unfortunately most men are, a believer in non-interference; that sophism of international comity which permits the King of Dahomey to kill his subjects to his heart’s content, and the King of Viti-Vau to eat his, to the satisfaction of his stomach.

This limitation in the principles of the Magyar chief was the only thing in his character, known to the writer, that will exclude him from being considered truly, grandly great.

It may have been only assumed – it is to be hoped so – to contribute to the success of his noble purposes.

It certainly tended to this – by securing him the confidence of the more timid adherents of the revolutionary cause.

But there was another influence in his favour, and against the triumphant despots. All knew that the failure of the Hungarian revolution was due to causes over which Kossuth had no control – in short, to the blackest treachery on record. That with unerring genius, and all his soul’s energy, he had protested against the courses that led to it; and, to the last hour, had held out against the counsels of the wavering and the wicked. Not by his own consent, but by force, had he succumbed to them.

It was the knowledge of this that lent that magical influence to his name – every day growing stronger, as the story of Geörgei’s treason became better understood.

Expelled from his own land, he had sought an asylum in England.

Having gone through the fanfaron of a national welcome, in the shape of cheap receptions and monster meetings – having passed the entire ordeal, without succumbing to flattery, or giving his enemies the slightest cue for ridicule – this singular man had settled down in a modest suburban residence in the western district of London.

There in the bosom of his beloved family – a wife and daughter, with two sons, noble youths, who will yet add lustre to the name – he seemed only desirous of escaping from that noisy hospitality, by this time known to him to be nothing but the emptiest ostentation.

A few public dinners, cooked by such coarse caterers as the landlords of the London or Freemasons’ Tavern, were all of English cheer Kossuth ever tasted, and all he cared to claim. In his home he was not only permitted to purchase everything out of his own sadly attenuated purse, but was cheated by almost every tradesman with whom he had to deal; and beyond the ordinary extortion, on the strength of his being a stranger!

This was the sort of hospitality extended by England to the illustrious exile, and of which her Tory press have made so much boast! But that press has not told us how he was encompassed by British spies – by French ones also, in British pay – watched in his outgoings and incomings – tracked in his daily walks – his friends as well – and under constant incitement through secret agencies to do something that would commit him, and give a colourable chance for bringing his career to a close!

The outside world believed it had come to this; that the power of the great revolutionist was broken for ever, and his influence at an end.

But the despots knew better. They knew that as long as Kossuth lived, with character unattainted, scarce a king in Europe that did not need to sit trembling on his throne. Even England’s model queen, or rather the German prince who then controlled the destinies of the English nation, understood the influence that attached to Kossuth’s name, whilst the latter was among the most active of those secret agents who were endeavouring to destroy it.

The hostility of the royal family of England to the ex-dictator of Hungary is easily understood. It had a double source of inspiration: fear of the republican form, and a natural leaning to the alliance of kinship. The crowns of Austria and England are closely united in the liens of a blood-relationship. In the success of Kossuth would be the ruin of cousins-german and German cousins.

It was then the interest of all crowned heads to effect his ruin – if not in body, at least in reputation. His fame, coupled with a spotless character, shielded him from the ordinary dangers of the outlaw. The world’s public opinion stood in the way of their taking his life, or even consigning him to a prison.

But there was still the chance of rendering him innocuous – by blasting his reputation, and so depriving him of the sympathy that had hitherto upheld him.

For this purpose the press was employed – and notoriously the leading journal: that instrument ever ready, at a price, for purposes of oppression.

Openly and secretly it assailed him, by base accusations, and baser insinuations.

He was defended by a young writer, who had but lately made his appearance in the world of London, becoming known through the achievement of a literary triumph; and so successfully defended, that the Kossuth slanders, like curses, came back into the teeth of those who had uttered them.

In its long career of tergiversation, never had this noted newspaper been driven into such a position of shame. There was a whole day, during which it was chaffed on the Stock Exchange, and laughed at in the London clubs.

It has not forgotten that day of humiliation; and often has it given its antagonist cause to remember it. It has since taken ample revenge – by using its immense power to blast his literary reputation.

He thought not of this while writing those letters in defence of freedom and justice. Nor did he care, so long as this object might be attained.

It was attained. The character of the great Magyar came out stainless and triumphant – to the chagrin of suborned scribblers, and the despots who had suborned them.

Cleared in the eyes of the “nationalities,” Kossuth was still dangerous to the crowns of Europe – now more than ever.

The press had failed to befoul him. Other means must be employed to bring about his destruction.

And other means were employed. A plot was conceived to deprive him, not alone of his reputation, but his life. An atrocity so incredible, that in giving an account of it I can scarce expect to be believed!

It is nevertheless true.

Chapter Fifty Three.

A Kingly Scheme of Revolution

Once more met the conclave of crowned heads, by their representatives; no longer in the palace of the Tuileries, but in the mansion of an English nobleman.

This time the ex-dictator of Hungary was the subject of their deliberations.

“So long as he lives,” said the commissioner of that crown most nearly concerned, “so long will there be danger to our empire. A week, a day, a single hour, may witness its dissolution; and you know, gentlemen, what must follow from that?”

It was an Austrian field-marshal who thus spoke.

“From that would follow an emperor without a crown – perhaps without a head!”

The rejoinder came from the joking gentleman who was master of the mansion in which the conspirators were assembled.

“But is it really so serious?” asked the Russian Grand Duke. “Do you not much overrate the influence of this man?”

“Not any, altesse. We have taken pains to make ourselves acquainted with it. Our emissaries, sent throughout Hungary, report that there is scarce a house in the land where prayers are not nightly put up for him. By grand couch and cottage-bed the child is taught to speak the name of Kossuth more fervently than that of Christ – trained to look to him as its future saviour. What can come of this but another rising – a revolution that may spread to every kingdom in Europe?”

“Do you include the empires?” asked the facetious Englishman, glancing significantly toward the Grand Duke.

“Ay, do I. And the islands, too,” retorted the field-marshal. The Russian grinned. The Prussian diplomatist looked incredulous. Not so the representative of France; who, in a short speech, acknowledged the danger. To his master a European revolution would have been fatal, at to himself.

And yet it was he, whose country had least to fear from it, who suggested the vile plan for its avoidance. It came from the representative of England!

“You think Kossuth is your chief danger?” he said, addressing himself to the Austrian.

“We know it. We don’t care for Mazzini, with his wild schemes on the Italian side. The people there begin to think him mad. Our danger lies upon the Danube.”