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Updated: May 8, 2025
"We resemble," he said to Varhely, "those emigrants who never unpack their boxes, certain that they are soon to return home. They wait, and some day, catching a glimpse of themselves in a glass, they are amazed to find wrinkles and gray hairs." No longer having a home in his own country, Prince Andras had never dreamed of making another abroad.
After all, Varhely might, at this moment, be close to death; but, whatever might be the fate which awaited him at the end of his journey, he found the road very long and the engine very slow. At Venice he took a train which carried him through Lombardy into Tuscany; and at Florence he found Angelo Valla.
It was enough for him that his old brother-in-arms desired it, and that it was possible. "You see how everything is for the best, Varhely," he said to him one morning. "Perhaps you blamed me when you learned that I had accepted a post from Austria. Well, you see, if I did not serve the Emperor, I could not serve you!"
The sea lay at their feet a plain of silver, and the moonbeams danced over the waves in broken lines of luminous atoms; boats passed to and fro, their red lights flashing like glowworms; and it seemed to Andras and Varhely, as they approached the sea, receding over the wet, gleaming sands, that they were walking upon quicksilver.
The most picturesque bit of Roman antiquity is the Temple at Demsus, within a short drive of Varhely. It is on a small eminence overlooking a cluster of Wallack dwellings, and has long been used as a church by these people. The Hatszeg Valley, which comprehends the district I am now describing, is the pride of Transylvania, not less for its fertility than for its beauty.
But I did not wish my vengeance to arrive too late, when what I had assumed the right to prevent had become irreparable." "I do not understand exactly," said Varhely. Menko glanced at Valla as if to ask whether he could speak openly before the Italian. "Monsieur Angelo Valla was one of the witnesses of the marriage of Prince Andras Zilah," said Yanski.
"Oh! don't speak of old age before you have passed through the trials that Zilah and I have," responded Varhely. "At eighteen, Andras Zilah could have said: 'I am old. He was in mourning at one and the same time for all his people and for our country. But you! You have grown up, my dear fellow, in happy times.
Then, with a start, as one drowning catches at a straw, as one condemned to death makes a last appeal for mercy, with a feeble, despairing cry like that of a child, a strange contrast to the almost savage thanks given to Varhely, she exclaimed: "Ah! I implore you, listen to me!" Andras stopped. "What have you to say to me?" he asked. "Nothing nothing but this: Forgive! ah, forgive!
All this bloody past, enveloped as in a crimson cloud, but glorious with its gleams of hope and its flashes of victory, the Prince would revive with old Varhely, in the corner of whose eye at intervals a tear would glisten.
"These are queer days we live in!" thought the Austrian diplomats. The minister, of whom Yanski Varhely demanded an audience, his Excellency Count Josef Ladany, had formerly commanded a legion of Magyar students, greatly feared by the grenadiers of Paskiewisch, in Hungary.
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