something to you. That time, when you rescued me from death, you gave my
name to Sophie Botta, who also took upon herself my fate. I don't know
what became of her. If she died in my stead, may God comfort her! If
she still lives, may God bless and help her to reign in my stead! But
give me the name of Sophie Botta; give me the clothes of a working-girl;
give me God's free world, which she enjoyed. Let me become Sophie Botta
in reality, and let me wash clothes with the washerwomen at the brook.
If Sophie and I exchanged lives, let the exchange become real. Let me
learn what it is to live, or--let me learn what it is to die."

In speechless astonishment Count Vavel had listened to this passionate
outburst. It was the first time he had ever heard the gentle girl speak
so excitedly.

"Madame," he said with peculiar intonation, when she had ceased
speaking, "I am now convinced that I am the guardian of the most
precious treasure on this terrestrial ball. Henceforward I shall watch
over you with redoubled care."

"That will be unnecessary," proudly returned the young girl. "If you
wish to feel certain that I will patiently continue to abide in this
Nameless Castle, then make a home here for me--bring some happiness into
these rooms. If I see that you are happy I shall be content."

"Marie, Marie, the day of my perfect happiness only awaits the dawn of
your own! And that yours will come I firmly believe. But don't look for
it here, Marie. Don't ask for impossibilities. Marie, were my own
mother, whom I worshiped, still living, I could not bring her within
these walls to learn our secret."

"The woman who loves will not betray a secret."

For an instant Ludwig did not reply; then he said:

"And if it were true that some one loves me as you fancy, could I ask
her to bury herself here--here where there is no intercourse with the
outside world? No, no, Marie; we cannot expect any one else to become an
occupant of this tomb--the gates of which will not open until the trump
of deliverance sounds."

"And will it be long before that trump sounds, Ludwig?"

"I believe--nay, I know it must come very soon. The signs of the times
are not deceptive. Our resurrection may be nearer than we imagine; and
until then, Marie, let us endure with patience."

Marie pressed her guardian's hand, and drew a long sigh.

"Yes; we will endure--and wait," she repeated. "And now, give me back my
letter."

"Why do you want it, Marie?"

"I shall keep it, and sometime send it to the proper address--when the
angel of deliverance sounds his trump."

"May God hasten his coming!" fervently appended the count.

But he did not give her the letter.

*       *       *       *       *

Count Vavel now rarely ventured beyond the gate of the Nameless Castle.
The weather had become stormy, and a severe frost had robbed the garden
of its beauties. The very elements seemed to have combined against the
dwellers in the castle. Even the lake suddenly began to extend its
limits, overflowing its banks, and inundating meadows and gardens.
Marie's little pleasure-garden suffered with the rest of the flooded
lands, and threatened to become an unsightly swamp.

Count Vavel, knowing how Marie delighted to ramble amid her flowers,
determined to protect the garden from further destruction. Laborers were
easily secured. The numerous families of working-people who had been
rendered homeless by the inundation besieged the castle for assistance
and work, and none were turned empty-handed away. A small army was put
to work to construct an embankment that would prevent further
encroachment upon the garden by the water, while to Herr Mercatoris the
count sent a liberal sum of money to be distributed among the sufferers
by the flood.

This gift renewed the correspondence between the castle and the
parsonage, which had been dropped for several months.

The pastor, in acknowledging the receipt of the money, wrote:

"The flood has made a new survey of the lake necessary, as the evil
cannot be remedied until it has been determined what obstructs the
outlet. Our surveyor made a calculation as to the probable cost of the
work, and found that it would require an enormous sum of money--almost
five thousand guilders! Where was all this money to come from? The
puzzling question was answered by that angel from heaven, Baroness
Landsknechtsschild. When she heard of the sufferings of the poor people
who had been driven from their homes by the inundation, she offered to
supply the entire sum necessary. Now, it seems, something besides the
money is required for the undertaking.

"The surveyor, in order to calculate the distances which cannot be
measured by the chain, needs a superior telescope, and such a glass
would cost two or three thousand guilders more. As your lordship is the
owner of a telescope, I take it upon myself to beg the loan of it--if
your lordship can spare it to the surveyor for a short time."

The next day Count Vavel sent his telescope to the parsonage, with the
message that it was a present to the surveyor. Then, that he might not
be again tempted to look out upon the world and its people, the count
closed the tower windows.




PART VI

DEATH AND NEW LIFE IN THE NAMELESS CASTLE


CHAPTER I


Since Count Vavel had ceased to take outdoor exercise, he had renewed
his fencing practice with Henry, who was also an expert swordsman.

In a room on the ground floor of the castle, whence the clashing of
steel could not penetrate to Marie's apartments, the two men, master and
man, would fight their friendly battles twice daily, and with such vigor
that their bodies (as they wore no plastrons) were covered with
scratches and bruises.

One morning the count waited in vain for Henry to make his appearance in
the fencing-hall. It was long past the usual hour for their practice,
and the count, becoming impatient, went in search of the old servant.

The groom's apartment was on the same floor with the kitchen, adjoining
the room occupied by his wife Lisette, the cook.

The door of Henry's room which opened into the corridor was locked; the
count, therefore, passed into the kitchen, where Lisette was preparing
dinner.

"Where is Henry?" he asked of the unwieldy mountain of flesh, topped by
a face as broad and round as the full moon.

"He is in bed," replied Lisette, without looking up from her work.

"Is he ill?"

"I believe he has had a stroke of apoplexy."

She said it with as little emotion as if she had spoken of an underdone
pasty.

The count hastened through Lisette's room to Henry's bedside.

The poor fellow was lying among the pillows; his mouth and one eye were
painfully distorted.

"Henry!" ejaculated the count, in a tone of alarm; "my poor Henry, you
are very ill."

"Ye-es--your--lord-ship," he answered slowly, and with difficulty;
"but--but--I shall soon--soon be--all right--again."

Ludwig lifted the sick man's hand from the coverlet, and felt the pulse.

"Yes, you are very ill indeed, Henry--so ill that I would not attempt to
treat you. We must have a doctor."

"He--he won't come--here; he is--afraid. Besides, there is nothing--the
matter with--any part of me but--but my--tongue. I can--can
hardly--move--it."

"You must not die, Henry--you dare not!" in an agony of terror exclaimed
Ludwig. "What would become of me--of Marie?"

"That--that is what--troubles--troubles me--most, Herr Count. Who
will--take my--place? Perhaps--that old soldier--with the machine leg--"

"No! no! no! Oh, Henry, no one could take your place. You are to me what
his arms are to a soldier. You are the guardian of all my thoughts--my
only friend and comrade in this solitude."

The poor old servant tried to draw his distorted features into a smile.

"I am--not sorry for--myself--Herr Count; only for you two. I have
earned--a rest; I have--lost everything--and have long ago--ceased to
hope for--anything. I feel that--this is--the end. No doctor can--help
me. I know--I am--dying." He paused to breathe heavily for several
moments, then added: "There is--something--I should--like to
have--before--before I--go."

"What is it, Henry?"

"I know you--will be--angry--Herr Count, but--I cannot--cannot die
without--consolation."

"Consolation?" echoed Ludwig.

"Yes--the last consolation--for the--dying. I have not--confessed
for--sixteen years; and the--multitude of my--sins--oppresses me.
Pray--pray, Herr Count, send for--a priest."

"Impossible, Henry. Impossible!"

"I beseech you--in the name of God--let me see a priest. Have mercy--on
your poor old servant, Herr Count. My soul feels--the torments of hell;
I see the everlasting flames--and the sneering devils--"

"Henry, Henry," impatiently remonstrated his master, "don't be childish.
You are only tormenting yourself with fancies. Does the soldier who
falls in battle have time to confess his sins? Who grants him
absolution?"

"Perhaps--were I in--the midst of the turmoil of battle--I should not
feel this agony of mind. But here--there is so much time to think. Every
sin that I have committed--rises before me like--like a troop of
soldiers that--have been mustered for roll-call."

"Pray cease these idle fancies, Henry. Of what are you thinking? You
want to tell a priest that you are living here under a false name--tell
him that I, too, am an impostor? You would say to him: 'When the
revolutionists imprisoned my royal master and his family, to behead them
afterward, I clothed my own daughter in the garments belonging to my
master's daughter, in order to save the royal child from death, I gave
up my own child to danger, and carried my master's child to a place of
safety. My own child I gave up to play the role of king's daughter, when
kings and their offspring were hunted down like wild beasts; and made of
the king's daughter a servant, that she might be allowed to go free. I
counterfeited certificates of baptism, registers, passports, in order to
save the king's daughter from her enemies. I bore false
witness--committed perjury in order to hide her from her persecutors--'"

"Yes--yes," moaned the dying man, "all that have I done."

"And do you imagine that you will be allowed to breathe such a
confession into a human ear?" sternly responded the count.

"I must--I must--to make my peace with God."

"Henry, if you knew God as He is you would not tremble before him. If
you could realize the immeasurable greatness of His benevolence, His
love, His mercy, you would not be afraid to appear before Him with the
plea: 'Master, Thou sentest me forth; Thou hast summoned me to return. I
came from Thee; to Thee I return. And all that which has happened to me
between my going and my coming Thou knowest.'"

"Ah, yes, Herr Count, you have a great soul. It will know how to rise to
its Creator. But what can my poor, ignorant little soul do when it
leaves my body? It will not be able to find its way to God. I am afraid;
I tremble. Oh, my sins, my sins!"

"Your sins are imaginary, Henry," almost irritably responded Count
Vavel. "I swear to you, by the peace of my own soul, that the load
beneath which you groan is not sin, but virtue. If it be true that human
speech and thought are transmitted to the other world, and if there is a
voice that questions us, and a countenance that looks upon us, then
answer with confidence: 'Yes, I have transgressed many of Thy laws; but
all my transgressions were committed to save one of Thy angels.'"

"Ah, yes, Herr Count, if I could talk like that; but I can't."

"And are not all your thoughts already known to Him who reads all
hearts? It does not require the absolution of a priest to admit you to
His paradise."

But Henry refused to be comforted; his eyes burned with the fire of
terror as he moaned again and again:

"I shall be damned! I shall be damned!"

Count Vavel now lost all patience, and, forgetting himself in his anger,
exclaimed:

"Henry, if you persist in your foolishness you will deserve damnation.
Did not you say so yourself, when you pledged your word to me on that
eventful day? Did you not say, 'The wretch who would become a traitor
deserves to be damned'?"

With these words he rose and strode toward the door. But ere he reached
it his feeling heart got the better of his anger. He turned and walked
back to the bed, took the dying man's ice-cold hand in his, and said
gently:

"My old comrade--my brave old companion in arms! we must not part in
anger. Don't you trust me any more? Listen, my old friend, to what I say
to you. You are going on before to arrange quarters; then I will follow.
When I arrive at the gates of paradise, my first question to St. Peter
will be, 'Is my good old comrade, the honest, virtuous Henry, within?'
And should the sainted gatekeeper reply, 'No, he is not here; he is down
below,' then I shall say to him, 'I am very much obliged to you, old
fellow, for your friendliness, but a paradise from which my old friend
Henry is excluded is no place for me. I am going down below to be with
him.' That is what I shall say, so help me Heaven!"

The sufferer who stood on the threshold of death strove to smile. He
could not return the pressure of his master's hand, but he slowly and
with painful effort turned his head so that his cold lips rested against
the count's hand.

"Yes--yes," he whispered, and his dim eyes brightened for an instant.
"If we were down there together--you and I--we should not have to stop
long there; some one with her prayers would very soon win our release."

Count Vavel suddenly beat his palm against his forehead, and exclaimed:

"I never once thought of her! Wait, my brave Henry. I will return
immediately. I cannot allow you to have a priest, but I will bring an
angel to your bedside."

He hastened to Marie's apartments.

"You have been weeping?" she exclaimed, looking up into his tear-stained
eyes with deep concern.

"Yes, Marie; we are going to lose our poor old Henry."

"Oh, my God! How entirely alone we shall be then!"

"Will you come with me to his bedside? The sight of you will cheer his
last moments."

"Yes, yes; come quickly."

A wonderful light brightened Henry's face when he saw his young
mistress. She moved softly to the head of his bed, and with her delicate
fingers gently stroked the cheeks of the trusty old servant.

He closed his eyes and sighed when her hand touched his face.

"Is he smiling?" whispered Marie to Ludwig, gazing with compassionate
awe on the distorted countenance. Then she bent over him and said:

"Henry--my good Henry, would you like me to pray with you?"

She knelt beside the bed and in a feeling tone repeated the beautiful
prayer which the good Pere Lacordaire composed for those who journey to
the other world, pausing from time to time to let the dying man repeat
the words after her.

Henry's tongue became heavier and heavier as he repeated, with visible
effort, the soul-inspiring words.

Then Marie repeated the Lord's Prayer. Even Ludwig could not do
otherwise than bend his knee upon the chair by which he stood, and bow
his skeptical head, while the innocent maid and his dying servant prayed
together.

When Marie rose from her knees, the painful smile had vanished from
Henry's lips; his face was calm and peaceful; the distortion had
disappeared from his countenance.

*       *       *       *       *

After Henry's death, life for the occupants of the Nameless Castle
became still more uncomfortable. Ludwig Vavel had lost his only
friend--the only one who had shared his cares and his confidences. He
was obliged to hire a servant to assist Lisette, and, remembering what
Henry had advised, took the old soldier with the wooden leg into the
castle. For the old invalid, the change from hard labor to comfortable
quarters and easy work was certainly an improvement. Instead of cutting
wood all day long for a mere pittance, he had now nothing to do but
brush clothes which were never dusty, polish the furniture, receive the
supplies from and deliver orders to Frau Schmidt every morning, to place
the newspapers on the library table, and convey the victuals from the
kitchen to the dining-room.

But two weeks of this easy work and good wages, and the comforts of the
castle, were all that the old soldier could endure. Then he took off his
handsome livery, and begged to be allowed to return to his former life
of hardship and poverty. Afterward he was heard to aver that not for the
whole castle would he consent to live in it an entire year--where not
one word was spoken all day long; even the cook never opened her lips.
No, he could not stand it; he would rather, a hundred times over, cut
wood for five groats the day.

No sooner did Baroness Katharina learn that Count Vavel was again
without a man-servant than she sent to the castle Satan Laczi's son, who
was then twelve years old, and a useful lad.

Two leading ideas now filled Count Vavel's entire soul.

One was an enthusiastic admiration for a high ideal, whose embodiment he
believed he had found in the lovely person of his young charge. All the
emotions that a man of deep and profound nature lavishes on his faithful
love, his only offspring, his queen, his guardian saint, Count Ludwig
now bestowed on this one woman, who endured with patience, renounced
with meekness, forgave and loved with her whole heart, and who, even in
her banishment, adored her native land which had repulsed and cruelly
persecuted her.

The second idea encompassed all the emotions of an opposing passion: a
boundless hatred for the giant who, with strides that covered kingdoms
and empires, was marching over the entire eastern hemisphere, marking
his every step with graves and human skeletons; an enmity toward the
Titan who was using thrones as footstools, and who had made himself a
god over a greater portion of Europe,

Count Vavel was not the only one who cherished a hatred of this sort; it
was felt all over Europe. What was happening in those days could be
learned only through the English newspapers. Liberty of speech was
prohibited throughout the entire continent. Only an indiscreet
correspondent would trust his secret to the post; and Ludwig Vavel only
by the exercise of extreme caution could learn from his banker in
Holland what was necessary for him to know. Through this medium he
learned of the general discontent with the methods of the all-powerful
one. He learned of the plans of the Philadelphia Club, which counted
among its members renowned officers in the army of France. He heard that
a number of distinguished Frenchmen had offered their services and
swords to the foreign imperial army against their own hated emperor. He
heard of the dissatisfied murmuring among the French people against the
frightful waste of human life, the never-ending intrigues, the
approaching shadows of the coalition.

All this he heard there in the Nameless Castle, while he waited for his
watchword, ready when it came to reply: "Here!"

And while he waited he interested himself also in what was going on in
the land in which he sojourned. He had two sources for acquiring
information on this subject--Herr Mercatoris in Fertoeszeg, and the young
attorney, who was now living in Pest. The count corresponded with both
gentlemen,--personally he had never spoken to the pastor, and but once
to his attorney,--and from their letters learned what was going on in
that portion of the world in the vicinity of the Nameless Castle.

However, as there was a wide difference between the characters of his
two correspondents, the count was often puzzled to which of them he
should give credence. The pastor, who was a student and a philosopher,
and a defender of the existing state of affairs, affirmed that there was
not on the face of the globe a more contented and peace-loving folk than
the Hungarians. The young lawyer, on the other hand, asserted that the
existing system was all wrong; that general dissatisfaction prevailed
throughout Hungary. His irony did not spare the great ones who swayed
the destiny of the country. In a word, resentment against oppression,
and discontent, might be read in every line of his epistles.

Count Vavel was rather inclined to believe that the younger man
expressed the temper of the nation. In reality, however, it was only the
discontent of a small social body, which found quite enough room for its
meetings in the sleeping-chamber of one of the sympathizers. Within this
circumscribed space, and amid a lively interchange of opinions,
originated many a daring project that was never carried beyond the
threshold of the hall of meeting.

Ludwig Vavel, on reading the young man's letters, had come to the
conclusion that Hungary awaited his (Vavel's) enemy as its liberator.

The Diet, it is true, had authorized the "recruit contingent," but the
recruits were not taken from those who were inspired with love for the
fatherland, and who would do battle for an idea. The enlisted men were
chiefly homeless wanderers. This "cannon-fodder" would go into battle
without enthusiasm, would perform what was required of them like
obedient machines.

Of what good would be such a crew against a host that had called into
being a great national consciousness, a host that was made up of the
best force of a vigorous people, a host whose every member was proud of
his ensign with its eagle, and who held himself superior to every other
soldier in the world?

Vavel well knew that the giant of the century could be conquered only by
heroes and patriots. A hireling crew could not enter the field against
him.




CHAPTER II


When a sacrifice is demanded by one's fatherland, it becomes the duty of
every true patriot to offer himself as the victim.

Consequently, Herr Vice-palatine Bernat Goeroemboelyi von Dravakeresztur
did not hesitate to immolate himself on the sacrificial altar when his
attention was directed by his superior to Section 1 of Article II. in
the laws enacted by the Diet in the year 1808. Said clause required the
vice-palatine to call in person on those "high and mighty persons" who,
instead of appearing with their horses at the _Lustrations_,--according
to Section 17 of Article III.,--preferred to send the fine of fifty
marks for non-attendance.

Among these absentees from the county meetings was Count Ludwig Vavel.

The Vice-palatine's task was to teach these refractories, through
patriotic reasoning, to amend their ways. The sacrifice attendant upon
the performance of this duty was that Herr Bernat would be obliged,
during his official visit to the Nameless Castle, to abstain from
smoking.

But duty is duty, and he decided to do it. He preceded his call at the
castle by a letter to Count Vavel, in which he explained, with
satisfaction to himself, the cause of his hasty retreat on the occasion
of his former visit, and also announced his projected official
attendance upon the Herr Count on the following day.

He arrived at the castle in due time; and Count Vavel, who wished to
make amends for his former rudeness to so important a personage, greeted
him with great cordiality.

"The Herr Count has been ill, I understand?" began Herr Bernat, when
greetings had been exchanged.

"I have not been ill--at least, not to my knowledge," smilingly
responded the count.

"Indeed? I fancied you must be ill because you did not attend the
Lustrations, but sent the fine instead."

"May I ask if many persons attended the meeting?" asked Count Vavel.

"Quite a number of the lesser magnates were present; the more important
nobles were conspicuous by their absence. I attributed this failure to
appear at the Lustrations to Section I of Article III. of the militia
law, which prohibits the noble militiaman from wearing gold or silver
ornamentation on his uniform. This inhibition, you must know, is
intended to prevent emulation in splendor of decoration among our own
people, and also to restrain the rapacity of the enemy."

"Then you imagine, Herr Vice-palatine, that I do not attend the meetings
because I am not permitted to wear gold buttons and cords on my coat?"
smilingly queried the count.

"I confess I cannot think of any other reason, Herr Count."

"Then I will tell you the true one," rather haughtily rejoined Count
Vavel, believing that his visitor was inclined to be sarcastic. "I do
not attend your meetings because I look upon the entire law as a
jest--mere child's play. It begins with the mental reservation, 'The
Hungarian noble militia will be called into service _only_ in case of
imminent danger of an attack from a foreign enemy, and then only if the
attacking army be so powerful that the regular imperial troops shall be
unable to withstand it!' That the enemy is the more powerful no
commander-in-chief finds out until he has been thoroughly whipped! The
mission of the Hungarian noble militia, therefore, is to move into the
field--untrained for service--when the regular troops find they cannot
cope with a superior foe! This is utterly ridiculous! And, moreover,
what sort of an organization must that be in which 'all nobles who have
an income of more than three thousand guilders shall become cavalry
soldiers, those having less shall become foot-soldiers'? The money-bag
decides the question between cavalry and infantry! Again, 'every village
selects its own trooper, and equips him.' A fine squadron they will
make! And to think of sending such a crew into the field against
soldiers who have won their epaulets under the baptismal fires of
battle! Again, to wage war requires money first of all; and this fact
has been entirely ignored by the authorities. You have no money,
gentlemen; do you propose that the noble militia host shall march only
so long as the supply of food in their knapsacks holds out? Are they to
return home when the provisions shall have given out? Never fear, Herr
Vice-palatine! when it becomes necessary to shoulder arms and march
against the enemy, I shall be among the first to respond to the first
call. But I have no desire to be even a spectator of a comedy, much less
take part in one. But let us not discuss this farce any further. I
fancy, Herr Vice-palatine, we may be able to find a more sensible
subject for discussion. There is a quiet little nook in this old castle
where are to be found some excellent wines, and some of the best latakia
you--"

"What?" with lively interest interrupted the vice-palatine. "Latakia?
Why, that is tobacco."

"Certainly--and Turkish tobacco, too, at that!" responded Count Vavel.
"Come, we will retire to this nook, empty one glass after another, enjoy
a smoke, and tell anecdotes without end!"

"Then you do smoke, Herr Count?"

"Certainly; but I never smoke anywhere but in the nook before mentioned,
and never in the clothes I wear ordinarily."

"Aha!--that a certain person may not detect the fumes, eh?"

"You have guessed it."

"Then there is not an atom of truth in the reports malicious tongues
have spread abroad about you, for I know very well that a certain lady
has not the least objection to tobacco smoke. I do not refer to the Herr
Count's donna who lives here in the castle--you may be sure I shall take
good care not to ask any more questions about _her_. No; I am not
talking about that one, but about the other one, who has puzzled me a
good deal of late. She takes the Herr Count's part everywhere, and is
always ready to defend you. Had she not assured me that I might with
perfect safety venture to call here again, I should have sent my
secretary to you with the _Sigillum compulsorium_. I tell you, Herr
Count, ardent partizanship of that sort from the other donna looks a
trifle suspicious!"

The count laughed, then said:

"Herr Vice-palatine, you remind me of the critic who, at the conclusion
of a concert, said to a gentleman near whom he was standing: 'Who is
that lady who sings so frightfully out of tune?' 'The lady is my wife.'
'Ah, I did not mean the one who sang, but the lady who accompanied her
on the piano--the one who performs so execrably.' 'That lady is my
sister.' 'I beg a thousand pardons! I made a mistake; it is the music,
the composition, that is so horrible. I wonder who composed it?' 'I
did.'"

Herr Bernat was charmed--completely vanquished. This count not only
smoked: he could also relate an anecdote! Truly he was a man worth
knowing--a gentleman from crown to sole.

Toward the conclusion of the excellent dinner, to which Herr Bernat did
ample justice, he ventured to propose a toast:

"I cannot refrain, Herr Count, from drinking to the welfare of this
castle's mistress; and since I do not know whether there be one or two,
I lift a glass in each hand. Vivant!"

Without a word the count likewise raised two glasses, and drained first
one, then the other, leaving not enough liquor in either to "wet his
finger-nail."

By the time the meal was over Herr Bernat was in a most generous mood;
and when he took leave of his agreeable host, he assured him that the
occupants of the Nameless Castle might always depend on the protection
and good will of the vice-palatine.

Count Vavel waited until his guest was out of sight; then he changed his
clothes, and when the regular dinner-hour arrived joined Marie, as
usual, in the dining-room, to enjoy with her the delicate snail-soup and
other dainties.




CHAPTER III


At last war was declared; but it brought only days of increased
unhappiness and discontent to the tiger imprisoned in his cage at the
Nameless Castle--as if burning oil were being poured into his open
wounds.

The snail-like movements of the Austrian army had put an end to the
appearance of the apocalyptic destroying angel.

Ludwig Vavel waited like the tiger crouched in ambush, ready to spring
forth at the sound of his watchword, and heard at last what he had least
expected to hear.

The single-headed eagle had not hesitated to take possession of that
which the double-headed eagle had hesitated to grasp.

Napoleon had issued his memorable call to the Hungarian people to assert
their independence and choose their king from among themselves.

Count Ludwig received a copy of this proclamation still damp from the