One day, however, a message was brought him through the director of police from the emperor, who was “graciously pleased” to inform Silvio Pellico that all was well with his family. He begged piteously for more precise information,—were his parents, his brothers and sisters all alive? No answer was vouchsafed; he must be satisfied with what he had been told and be grateful for the compassionate clemency of his august sovereign. A second message, equally brief and meagre, came later, but still not one word to relieve the dreadful doubts that constantly oppressed him. No wonder that his health suffered anew and that he was seized with colics and violent internal pains. Another acute grief was due to the loss of his good friend Schiller, who became so infirm that he was transferred to lighter duty and was at last sent to the military hospital, where he gradually faded away. He never forgot his dear prisoners, “his children,” as he called them and to whom he sent many affecting messages when at the point of death.
The Austrian government, although uniformly pitiless and stony-hearted, was at times uneasy, ashamed, it might be, at the consequences of its barbarous prison régime. More than once special inquiries were made by eminent doctors sent on purpose from Vienna to report on the sanitary state of Spielberg and the constant presence of scurvy among the prisoners. The evil might have been diminished, if not removed, by the use of a more generous diet, but the suggestion, if made, was never adopted. One commissioner had dared to recommend that artificial light should be provided in the cells, which were so dark after nightfall that the occupant was in danger of running his head against the walls. A whole year passed before this small favour was accorded. Another visitor, hearing that the prison doctor would have prescribed coffee for Pellico but was afraid to do so, secured him that boon. A third commissioner, a man of high rank and much influence at court, was so deeply impressed by the miserable condition of the prisoners that he openly expressed his indignation, and his kind words in some measure consoled the victims of such cruel oppression.
At last the authorities were so much disturbed by the reports of the failing health of prisoners so constantly isolated, that they were moved to associate them in couples in the same cell. Silvio Pellico, to his intense delight, was given Maroncelli as his companion. He was so much overjoyed by the news that at first he fainted away, and after he had regained consciousness he again fainted at seeing how the ravages of imprisonment with its attendant dejection, starvation and poisonous air had told on his friend. The two continued together for the years that remained to be served; years of suffering, for both were continually ill, Maroncelli lost his leg, and both were attacked with persistent scurvy. They waited together for the long delayed day of release, which in the case of Pellico was greatly prolonged beyond the promised termination of seven and a half years. In the end he served fully ten years, but was finally released in 1830.
The order reached him quite unexpectedly one Sunday morning immediately after mass, when he had regained his cell for dinner. They were eating their first mouthfuls when the governor entered, apologised for his appearance, and led them off, Pellico and Maroncelli, for an interview with the director of police. They went with a very bad grace, for this official never came but to give trouble and they expected nothing better. The director was slow of speech and long hesitated to impart the joyful news that His Majesty the emperor had been mercifully disposed toward them and had set them both free.
CHAPTER X
BRIGANDAGE AND CRIME IN AUSTRIA-HUNGARY
Brigandage a great scourge in Eastern Europe—The Hungarian brigand a popular hero—The “poor fellows” and the “betyars” or brigands on a large scale—Their methods and appearance—Generous to the poor; fierce and revengeful to the rich—A countess who danced at a brigands’ ball—The Jews who were crucified and tortured—Famous brigand chiefs—Sobry—Some of his extraordinary feats—Mylfait and Pap—The criminal woman in Austria-Hungary—Remarkable rogues—Weininger—The black pearl from the British Crown jewels—Capital punishment—The execution of Hackler in Vienna—His brutal crime.
From time immemorial brigandage has been the principal scourge of the great tracts of wild country beyond the eastern Alps. The penal code has always bristled with laws against highway robbery and pillage. The ancient nobility, entrenched in their fortified castles or hidden safely within rocky fastnesses, were so many freebooters and road-agents who issued forth to prey upon their defenceless victims. They drew around them a strong body of vassals, peasants, herdsmen and shepherds, and organised them into great bands of brigands, constantly engaged in extorting ransoms and levying blackmail in the surrounding districts. The evil example of these lawless chieftains was followed by the “free” towns, and life and property were everywhere insecure. Reference to this state of things is to be found in a royal decree published by Mathias Corvinus in the fifteenth century, reciting that “the number of criminals has so much increased that no one is safe either on the public roads or even in his own house.” But the most stringent laws proved powerless to repress brigandage and general rapine. Whole villages were devastated by armed bands under powerful and capable leaders, who carried their depredations far and wide through the Carpathians. We may quote from the record of a traveller of the seventeenth century, who, when making a journey from Poland into Hungary, was forced to seek the protection of an escort of brigands to defend him from the attacks of other brigands who dominated the mountain road and the whole country-side. Their chief was one Janko, who received and entertained the traveller hospitably, and he was present at a great feast to celebrate a successful attack upon a caravan of merchants whom they had despoiled. He was entirely at the mercy of these questionable friends, who proposed to break one of his legs to prevent him from resuming his journey prematurely. He escaped, happily, and after thirty-six hours’ wandering reached a village, where no one could be found to guide him further, lest they should offend the brigands. The band was presently captured, and the traveller was forced to witness the tortures inflicted upon Janko, who was flayed alive by his executioners; his skin was wound round him in long strips, and he was then hung in the sun on an iron hook, where he lingered for three days. The other brigands were also flayed and broken on the wheel. It was about this time that the famous band of cannibal-brigands under Hara Pacha terrorised Hungary.
The Hungarian brigand was something of a popular hero, esteemed for his generosity and chivalry. He was ready for any dangerous and daring deed, inspired rather by a thirst for adventure than by acquisitiveness or the savage instincts of murder and pillage. Strange stories are told to their credit. One of them, who had been condemned to death and was being escorted to the gallows by a pandour, or local policeman, never forgot that he had been regaled with a good dinner and afterward allowed to escape. Three months later the pandour fell into the brigand’s hands, and was treated to a banquet in return and then set free. On another occasion, a band of a dozen brigands took refuge in a glass manufactory on the borders of Lake Balaton, where they stood siege for three hours by a strong party of pandours. Then they made a temporary truce, invited their assailants to come in and drink, and after a carouse together, expelled them and renewed the fight, in which they were worsted and obliged to surrender.
There were various classes of brigands; some of them top-sawyers who flew at the highest game, others more or less inoffensive and commonly known as “poor fellows,” the Szegény Legény, a name they had invented for themselves. These last were mostly conscripts who could not tolerate military discipline and had deserted from the army; they had not dared to return home, but had taken refuge in forest or steppe, where they lurked in concealment, issuing forth only to steal food, seizing a sheep or a lamb from the first flock they might encounter. The “poor companion” was not exactly a brigand, only a tramp or vagabond who consorted with shepherds and, keeping up an outwardly respectable appearance, entered the villages to join in the dances and festivities. They were most formidable in parts of the country where they were numerous enough to use menace in demanding hospitality. They formed themselves into bands of twenty or thirty and broke into isolated houses, armed with bludgeons, or by using threats induced the proprietors to pay them blackmail. Once a nobleman met a “poor fellow” in the open who had escaped from gaol, and threatened to send him back there if he was caught stealing sheep. “If you will give me one every year,” said the vagabond, “I will lay my hands upon no more of your sheep.” It is not uncommon for the “poor companion” to reform, marry and settle down into an industrious and well-conducted servant. They have been known to beg for gifts in kind—bacon and bread, for the support of their fellows in the woods.