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Updated: May 29, 2025
The Tzigani played now the waltzes which Marsa used to play; then the slow, sorrowful plaint of the "Song of Plevna;" and then the air of Janos Nemeth's, the heart-breaking melody, to the Prince like the lament of his life: 'The World holds but One Fair Maiden'. And at every note he saw again Marsa, the one love of his existence. "Let us go!" he said suddenly to Yanski.
"No," said Andras. "The one whom I expected to find here was not you." "Who was it, then?" "Michel Menko!" Yanski Varhely turned toward Marsa. She did not stir; she was looking at the Prince. "Michel Menko is dead," responded Varhely, shortly. "It was to announce that to the Princess Zilah that I am here."
I have met almost all these faces at Nice; they are to be seen everywhere." "To me," retorted Yanski, in his guttural voice, "these people are phenomena." "Phenomena? Not at all. Life of to-day is so complicated that the most unexpected people and events find their place in it. You have not lived, Varhely, or you have lived only for your idol, your country, and everything amazes you.
The Tzigani played now the waltzes which Marsa used to play; then the slow, sorrowful plaint of the "Song of Plevna;" and then the air of Janos Nemeth's, the heart-breaking melody, to the Prince like the lament of his life: 'The World holds but One Fair Maiden'. And at every note he saw again Marsa, the one love of his existence. "Let us go!" he said suddenly to Yanski.
Yanski made special efforts to rouse in Andras the old memories of his fatherland, and to inspire in him again his love for Hungary. "Ah! I used to have so many hopes and dreams for her future," said Andras; "but idealists have no chance in the world of to-day; so now I am a man who expects nothing of life except its ending.
"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.
At forty-four, the Prince was bidding farewell to his bachelor life: it was no folly, and Yanski saw with delight that the ancient race of the Zilahs, from time immemorial servants of patriotism and the right, was not to be extinct with Prince Andras. Hungary, whose future seemed brightening; needed the Zilahs in the future as she had needed them in the past.
They were very much astonished, at the Austrian ministry of foreign affairs, to see Count Yanski Varhely, who, doubtless, had come from Paris to ask some favor of the minister. The Austrian diplomats smiled as they heard the name of the old soldier of '48 and '49. So, the famous fusion of parties proclaimed in 1875 continued! Every day some sulker of former times rallied to the standard.
I have met almost all these faces at Nice; they are to be seen everywhere." "To me," retorted Yanski, in his guttural voice, "these people are phenomena." "Phenomena? Not at all. Life of to-day is so complicated that the most unexpected people and events find their place in it. You have not lived, Varhely, or you have lived only for your idol, your country, and everything amazes you.
One evening he announced to Varhely that he was going to the lonely villa of Sainte-Adresse, where they had so many times together watched the sea and talked of their country. "I am going there to be alone, my dear Yanski," he said, "but to be with you is to be with myself. I hope that you will accompany me." "Most certainly," replied Varhely.
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