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This story takes place in 1849 in rural Hungary. It was written in 2009 in theauthor's room. A little has been adapted.Lieutenant Szecsenyi Istvan was the most handsome of officers whoseregiments had turned to the Republican cause. He was afair beardless youth of nineteen, even more graced by his uniform (thoughseen more or less as a fop than as a fighter).It was early December. In 1849, it didn't snow until winter came... since,according to tradition, the first snows openedthat season. Now there was, concealed in the Carpathian heights, a whitebulwark of sorts raised by the Turks, besieged andoccupied by Austrians, that lately had fallen into the separatists' hands. Itwas at once a palace, a fortress prison (asdevised as such by the Turks) and a barracks, its rampart and thesurrounding firwood covered in fine frost; and ourregiment was garrisoned there.Now the commanding officer had one only daughter, Ilona, with hair and eyesa pitch black hue. She lived with the regimentand was esteemed by its officers, especially Istvan, since they won eachother's favor. He was not only handsome, but alsoskilled at fencing and playing ecarte (the only pastimes in such a secludedoutpost during peacetime).It seemed unusual thatan aristocrat would marry a tomboy, but perhaps the charms of both broughtabout the passionate feelings. She was his bride,they had a chapel and a Catholic priest, and means to celebrate the holyalliance that would soon come.Now the truce with the invading Austrian Empire chanced to be ratherfragile, and it broke during those days, known ashalcyon days. Soon there was a departure of steeds and guns and a farewellto wives and daughters and fiancees, Ilona beingthe most cherished one. She stood on the threshold, before entering theheadquarters again, with the keys and a bayonet girton her waist, and the young lieutenant asked form a kiss from her lips, arequest she fulfilled on the spot... and then oncemore, her face drenched in tears, his hands running through her hair and apromise that he would return alive from thewar front to take her hand. And right then the sun was setting (winter daysare short and cold) and it started to snow fora while, but then the bleeding sky stopped to snow as they went forth;


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Istvn not having to look over his shoulder to seehis bride, sure of his expectations.That night, the hussars lit a campfire and huddled themselves in their coats,the officers like our lieutenant closer to thefire. They spent the evening with strong drink and songs on the fiddle, LaMarseillaise in Hungarian (Szecsenyi Istvan'stranslation) being the most frequently sung. He lay his tricorne aside andasked his valet for a pigeon, a pen and stationery.He wrote a little letter to his fiancee and then let the pigeon fly away. Thebrunette girl saw nex day the pigeon in herbedchamber and prayed to Our Lady to protect the young man's life fromimpending threats.Meanwhile, he had stayed awake until daybreak and his commanding officersummoned all to battle. Thirty men led by LieutenantSzecsenyi were exposed, as a forlorn hope, to the enemy Austrian ranks. Hewas himself rather distanced from the thirtyprivates and showing them the way, little aware of the fate he would meet,when a gun was fired from across the plain anda second passed. Then a bullet pierced the lieutenant's left breast and gavehim a feeling of blazing from within. He fellunconscious on the grass, bleeding both from the bullet hole and his partedlips with a stressed cough. The thirty privates,who had all survived, fetched the officer and noticed he was still alive. Theyhad improvised a hospital, and the woundedLieutenant Szecsenyi was carried and left there.It came to light that the gunshot had injured him beyond the surgeon's skill:the bullet was lodged in his left lung, andthus the young man breathed with searing pain and increasing difficulty, hisvoice broken with short coughs that broughtforth pink froth, and loss of blood turned his countenance pale and cloudedhis judgment. The fatal shot was aimed at his heart,the marksman sure believing the target's heart was to the left side. Thus hedidn't die on the spot, but was dying a morepainful and slower death, like a candle burning out, in a hospital bed. What asight! His perfect health fading away too soon!You should had seen that officer stripped of his tight uniform, his stalwartchest bandaged and his blond hair tangled intoknots.


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Yet he was in such an altered state that he escaped from the hospitalwearing his uniform in an unkempt fashion. It didn'tlast long before he stopped, not having enough blood and enough oxygen tocarry on. He was in too wretched a state of healthto run, but he was stubborn and impetuous, and thus, when his strength wasforsaking, he decided to lay down to rest on thefrosted grass... but he didn't awake.He was found, bereft of life, by another officer, in the morn. Neither warmth,nor a draught of brandy, nor touching hisleft side gave any result; in touching his throat and his breast, it came tolight that his heart had stopped for eternity.A trench marked with a modest wooden cross was and is his eternal restingplace.The officer who had attempted to revive Istvan left for the headquarters togive the ladies news of deceased loved ones.As soon as he informed Ilona that the promise could never be fulfilled (andoffering himself as a suitor to console the brunette)she burst into tears, retired to her bedchamber and, taking the bayonet fromher girdle, she thrust its blade to the heartand died on the spot.

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