Had I wavered but a hair's-breadth, I must have plunged down into the abyss.
Ah! what a different man I should have become. Had I fled with her, I should now be the grand master of the Realists, for there is as much erotic flame, satiric vein, and luxurious fancy in me as in them; but I have not used these qualities, because I write for a Hungarian public. Had I flown with her, millions would have read my works, and fathers and mothers would have cursed me as the corrupter of their children. And I should have laughed at them, and tapped the fat paunch, which as an idealistic writer I have never been able to acquire.
And whither would this reinless, bridleless passion have hurried me had I been swayed by such a fascinating Calypso, whose every movement was a charm, whose every word was a snare, who was herself the personified joy of a Mohammedan paradise? For, remember, I was then only four-and-twenty!
Fortunately, a sober thought still remained in my head.
"I mean to remain in my own land," I said abruptly.
"Why?"
"I will not forsake those who arose at my word. If they lie on the earth, I also will lie down beside them. I will take my share of the suffering of which I was the cause."
"You won't remain out in the cold for ever, of course. Haven't you, then, the hope that those who have sought refuge abroad will one day return in triumph? Then you also will return home at the head of the reprieved."
Even this weapon she managed to turn against me! Oh, what a weak coat of mail it was that defended me—only a single word!
"I have given my word that I'll not depart from hence," I said softly.