Thirteen at Table | Page 3

but

we give one instead of ten millions, who were hitherto our own people,
and yet strangers in their native land."
"Chimera! The people will not understand you. They never even
dreamt of what you wish to give them. The true way to seek the
people's welfare is to give them what they need.
"Ask my dependents! Is there one among them whom I have allowed to
suffer want or ruin, whom I have not assisted in times of need?--or
have I ever treated them unjustly? You will not hear a murmur. Tell
them that I am unjust notwithstanding, because I do not call the peasant
from his plow to give his opinions on forming the laws and
constitution,--and what will be the consequence? They will stare at you
in astonishment; and yet, in their mistaken wrath, they will come down
some night and burn this house over my head."
"That is the unnatural state of the times. It is all the fault of the past bad
management, if the people have no better idea. But let the peasant once
be free, let him be a man, and he will understand all that is now strange
to him."
"But that freedom will cost the lives of thousands!"
"I do not deny it. Indeed, I believe that neither I nor any of the present
generation will reap the fruits of this movement. I think it probable that
in a few years not one of those whose names we now hear spoken of
may still be living; and what is more, disgrace and curses may be
heaped upon their dust. But a time will come when the great
institutions of which they have laid the foundation will arise and render
justice to the memory of those who sacrificed themselves for the
happiness of future generations. To die for our country is a glorious
death, but to carry with us the curses of thousands, to die despised and
hated for the salvation of future millions, oh! that is sublime--it is
Messiah-like!"
"My son--my only son!" cried his father, throwing himself passionately
on the young man's neck and sobbing bitterly. "Do you see these
tears?"

"For the first time in my life I see them, father--I see you weep; my
heart can scarcely bear the weight of these tears--and yet I go! You
have reason to weep, for I bring neither joy nor glory on your
head--and yet I go! A feeling stronger than the desire of glory, stronger
than the love of my country, inspires my soul; and it is a proof of the
strength of my faith that I see your tears, my father-- and yet I go!"
"Go!" murmured his father, in a voice of despair. "You may never
return again, or, when you do, you may find neither your father's house
nor the grave in which he is laid! But know, even then, in the hour of
your death, or in the hour of mine, I do not curse you-- and now, leave
me." With these words he turned away and motioned to his son to
depart.
Imre silently left the apartment, and as soon as he had closed the door
the tears streamed from his eyes; but before his sword had struck the
last step his countenance had regained its former determination, and the
fire of enthusiasm had kindled in his eye.
He then went to take leave of his Uncle J—zsef, whom he found
surrounded by his family. The twins were sitting at his feet, while his
wife was playing bo-peep with the little one, who laughed and shouted,
while his mother hid herself behind his father's armchair.
Imre's entrance interrupted the general mirth. The little boy ran over to
examine the sword and golden tassels, while the little one began to cry
in alarm at the sight of the strange dress.
"Csitt, baba!" said his mother, taking him from his father's arms; "your
cousin is going to wars, and will bring you a golden horse."
J—zsef wrung his nephew's hand. "God be with you!" he exclaimed,
and added in a lower voice, "You are the noblest of us all--you have
done well!"
They then all embraced him in turns, and Imre left them, amidst
clamors of the little ones, and proceeded to his grandmother's
apartments.

On the way, he met his Uncle Barnab‡s, who embraced him again and
again in silence, and then tore himself away without saying a word.
The old lady sat in her great armchair, which she seldom quitted, and as
she heard the clash of Imre's sword, she looked up and asked who was
coming.
"It is Imre!" said the fair-haired maiden, blushing, and her heart beat
quickly as she pronounced his name.
Jol‡nka felt that Imre was more than a brother to her, and the