[10]Constituents.
[10]Constituents.
They turned and walked to the house, whence arose the sound of many voices, like the roll of a distant thunder-storm. The Hungarians are wont to commence their affairs, no matter whether they be great or small, not with light—but with noise. I leave my readers to imagine the fearful din with which the halls of the Retys resounded. Servants and haiduks ran in all directions, fetching and carrying all sorts of things. The cook and his boys,—the bailiff and the butler, the housekeeper and the maids, were shouting at, ordering about, and abusing one another; and Lady Rety, who every moment expected the arrival of her guests, had just sent her third maid with most peremptory instructions to cause the people to be silent,—without, however, obtaining any other result from the mission than a still greater confusion of tongues and voices. Great was her rage, and violently did she struggle to preserve that gracious smile which the Cortes were wont to admire in her at fixed periods every three years, viz., at the time of the general election.
The Sheriff Rety, Valentin Kishlaki, Mr. Paul Skinner, the justice, and sundry "spectabiles" of his party, were smoking their pipes in the hall, and acouple of poor relations, who were always invited on such occasions, filled and lighted their pipes for them, and made themselves generally useful, to show their deep sense of the honour which was done to them. Mr. Catspaw stood leaning against the wall. He looked the very picture of watchful humility.
This company, the like of which may be found in Hungary every where, especially at the time of the election, but which it were next to impossible to discover anywhere else, consisted but of a limited number of individuals. They were the grandees of the county of Takshony.
The man who first attracts our attention is Valentin Kishlaki, the father of Kalman Kishlaki, whom my readers had already the pleasure of meeting on the Turk's Hill. The good old man offers much to love, but little to describe. He is a short man, and withal a stout one; his hair is white, his cheeks red. He has a good-natured smile, and a pair of honest blue eyes. He is fond of telling a story without an end, but this weakness is his greatest crime.
Among the other persons in the sheriff's hall, the most remarkable are, doubtless, Augustin Karvay, the bold keeper of the county house, and ThomasShaskay, the receiver of the taxes. The former was a Hungarian nobleman of the true stamp: bred on the heath, fagged at school, and plucked at college. The insurrection of 1809 afforded the noble youth a brilliant opportunity of displaying his talents for homicide, which were supposed to be astounding. But the speedy termination of the war nipped Mr. Karvay's martial honours in the bud; nor does history record any of his deeds of bravery and devotion, except the fact that he left his regiment at the commencement of the first and only battle in which that gallant body took part, and in which it was routed; and that, regardless of the fatigue and toils of the way, he hastened home to defend his household gods and the female members of his family. But so modest was Mr. Karvay, that the slightest allusion to this act of unparalleled devotion was observed to cause him pain, and even to spoil his temper. This modesty we take to be a proof of true merit.
Mr. Karvay's gallantry, or, perhaps, his touching modesty, did afterwards so much execution upon the heart of Lady Katshflatty, a young widow of fifty, that she consented to bless the youthful hero with all the charms and gifts of fortune which her years and her late husband's prodigality had left her. The blessing, in either respect, was by no means very great, and Mr. Karvay was reduced to the extremity of living upon his wits, which in his case would have been tantamount to the lowest degree of destitution, but for the good fortune he had of making some enemies by his marriage with Lady Katshflatty. His enemies belonged to the opposition in the county; that is to say, they were members of the minority;—reason enough for the party in power to take him up; and under the sheriff's protection Mr. Karvay was successively appointed to the posts of Keeper of the County House, Captain of the Haiduks, and Honorary Juror, and promoted to all the honours, bustle, and emoluments of these respective dignities.
Such was the person to whom Mr. Thomas Shaskay was bound by the ties of a cordial and mutual dislike. The two men seemed to be created for the express purpose of hating one another. Shaskay was a small and spare man; his face reminded one of an old crumpled-up letter, his hair was scant, his nose sharp and long, and his narrow forehead covered with a thousand wrinkles. Karvay's huge bulk, mottled face, and curly black hair, were in bodily opposition to this frail piece of humanity. Candour was Mr. Karvay's characteristic feature; indeed,there were people in the county of Takshony who protested that the gallant captain would be more amiable if he were less candid. Now Shaskay was the closest man breathing. He answered reluctantly even to the simplest questions. Some of his friends protested that his closeness and secrecy were quite out of place, for that Nature, when she framed him, had treated him as druggists do their goods, and that "Poison" was as distinctly written on his face as it ever was on an arsenic bottle.
Shaskay had met with many misfortunes in the course of his life; but so great was his strength of mind that he was never known to allude to them, and least of all to his greatest misfortune, which, however, was mentioned in the records of the county. While he held the office of receiver-general of the district, sundry monies which were entrusted to his care disappeared; and though Mr. Shaskay protested that the money was stolen, and though the whole county believed him; nay, though no one had the least doubt that Shaskay (who said it) hadseenthe thief as he left the room, still the government, grossly violating the laws both of nature and of the country, dismissed the unfortunate receiver-general from his office. The county of Takshony made no less than thirteen petitions in his favour, but theworthy man could never succeed in regaining the office, of which he had discharged the duties to the unqualified satisfaction of the nobility, and from which he had not only derived no gains, but also sacrificed his own private property at cards. But so great is the virtue of a truly good man, that Mr. Shaskay, instead of joining (as might have been supposed) the opposition, remained faithful to his politics and his party, exerting the whole of his influence in behalf of the government, which had treated him so unjustly.
Mr. Rety, the sheriff, stands in the centre of his own hall. He is dressed in a blue attila with silver buttons, his boots are armed with silver spurs, and his Meerschaum pipe is embossed with silver. His thoughts were of the approaching election, and of the speech which he intended to address to the Cortes; but the brilliant phrase upon which he had just stumbled, was interrupted by a distant howling and bellowing, which became gradually more distinct.
"Eljen Rety! Eljen Skinner! Eljen the liberty of Hungary! Hujh rá!" and similar exclamations, with now and then a curse, and the report of a pistol, resounded through the village. And besides there was the wonderful burden of the song:—
"May the tulip flowers bloom for aye,And Rety be our sheriff this day!"
"May the tulip flowers bloom for aye,And Rety be our sheriff this day!"
which will do for any election, and which is remarkable for the ease with which it may be adapted to the case or the name of any candidate. And there was a van with a gipsy band performing the Rakotzi, and all the dogs of the village stood by and barked their welcome.
"This is indeed enthusiasm! this is indeed popularity!" said Karvay, stroking his moustache, and looking pleased; "by my soul it is a fine thing to be so much beloved! I am not rich, but I would give fifty florins any day to hear myself extolled in this manner."
"Ah! but I trust to goodness they won't burn any thing!" said one of the poor relations, whose reminiscences of the last election were not of an agreeable kind.
"Burn any thing! Terrem tette! of whom dost dare to speak?" roared Karvay. "Dost not know that thou speakest of noblemen? that St. Vilmosh has three hundred votes? The sheriff's house is insured, and if the worst were to come to the worst, and if all the village were burnt down, we ought to bless our stars that they have come to us instead of siding with the other party!"
"Karvay is right," said Rety to his trembling cousin; "How dare you speak disrespectfully of my guests? I know the gentlemen of St. Vilmosh."
"So do I!" roared Karvay, "every tenth man of my prisoners is from St. Vilmosh. Capital fellows they are! Your thief and murderer is a capital fellow in war,orat an election."
"There are some exceptions to that rule," interposed Shaskay. "In the insurrection of 1809, I understand the men of St. Vilmosh——"
It was lucky for Shaskay that the Cortes had by this time come to the gate, for Mr. Karvay was preparing to pay the ex-receiver-general in kind, by an allusion to sundry monies. His biting jokes on that tender topic were, however, cut short by the arrival of the whole noble mob in not less than thirty large vans. The vans in front and in the rear were ornamented with large yellow flags with suitable mottoes, such as
"Rety for ever!""No nobleman will condescend to build streets and dykes!"
and mongrel rhymes in the following fashion:—
"To pay no taxes, to pay no toll;To be exempt from the muster-roll;To make the laws, and to live at we can,Abusing the salt-prices:This befits a nobleman."
"To pay no taxes, to pay no toll;To be exempt from the muster-roll;To make the laws, and to live at we can,Abusing the salt-prices:This befits a nobleman."
Every nobleman had a green and yellow feather stuck in his hat or kalpac; these colours being emblematical of the hopes of their own party, and the envy of their adversaries, while they served the practical purpose of a badge of recognition.
The sheriff advanced, amidst violent cheering, to the front steps of the hall; the mob of noblemen shouting Halljuk[11]! formed a circle, and the notary of St. Vilmosh, stepping forward, addressed the patron in a speech of extraordinary pathos; in the course of which the words—Most revered,—Greece,—Rome,—Cicero,—patriotism,—singleness of purpose,—load star,—fragrant flowers,—forked tongues, pyramids, and steeple—were neither few nor far between, and which concluded with an assurance of the unbounded attachment of the constituency to the illustrious patriot he (the orator) had the supreme honour of addressing, and the quotation of "Si fractus illabetur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinæ," or to adopt the translation of the whipper-in of the Cortes:—
[11]Hear! hear!
[11]Hear! hear!
"May the tulip-flowers bloom for aye,And Rety be our sheriff this day!"
"May the tulip-flowers bloom for aye,And Rety be our sheriff this day!"
This speech, but especially its conclusion, called forth a torrent of applause; and the enthusiasm reached its culminating point, when Mr. Rety, asusual, assured them that he was overwhelmed with confusion—that he was unprepared—that this was the happiest day of his life—that he had no ambition, but that it appeared his friends of St. Vilmosh commanded his services, and that he was always the man who——
The assurance that Mr. Rety was "always the man who" excited cheers of the most deafening magnitude from his audience; and after the whipper-in had informed the sheriff that but one thing was wanting to the happiness of the noble mob, and that this one thing was the permission to kiss Lady Rety's hand, the crowd uttered another frantic shout of Eljen! and rushed into the house.
A sumptuous repast awaited them in the sheriff's dining-room and in the barn. The former apartment was occupied by theéliteof the company, while the lower precincts of the barn sheltered a less select, though by no means a less noble party. Theélitefeasted on four-and-twenty different kinds of sweetmeats, with Hungarian Champagne, Tokay, and ices; and the great mass of the Cortes filled their noble stomachs with Gulyash and Pörkölt, Tarhonya, cream-cakes, dumplings, roast meats, wine and brandy.
Etelka left the company immediately after dinner,while the Lady Rety conversed with some of the rising assessors and clergymen of the district. The gentlemen smoked their pipes in the hall, and in front of the house; and if the notary of St. Vilmosh was not among their number, his absence may perhaps be accounted for by the fact that Etelka's maid, Rosi, lived in another part of the house.
Akosh and Kalman were walking in the garden. They were equals in age and station, and of course they were sworn friends. Nevertheless, the two young men were utterly different in their characters and tempers. Kalman was, by his education and constitution, a Betyar, that is to say, a root-and-branch Magyar of the old school; but it was his great ambition to be mistaken for a man of high European breeding and refinement. Akosh, on the other hand, who had the advantage of the best education which Paris and London can afford, had taken it into his head to act the Magyar,par excellence. Neither of them succeeded in maintaining his artificial character; and especially on that day they had both signally failed in their endeavours to falsify the old proverb: "Naturam expellas furcâ; tamen usque recurret."
Akosh was indeed a Betyar when the dinner commenced; but he grew less talkative and noisy as thetalking and the noise around him increased, until at length he found himself fairly silenced. Kalman, who sat by Etelka, and who was greatly cheered by the kind manner in which she treated him (for poor Kalman was desperately in love with Miss Rety), took but little wine, and for a time his conduct and conversation were all that he or Etelka could wish. But by degrees he fell back into his Betyarism, until the displeased looks and curt replies of the lady made him aware of his error. At the end of the dinner he was as silent as his friend. He scarcely ventured to look at Miss Rety; and when dinner was over he hurried Akosh to the garden, there to bewail his sad and cruel fate.
"I am the most wretched of mortals!" cried he. "Did you observe the manner in which your sister treated me? She does not love me—nay, she detests and despises me!"
"Are you mad?" replied Akosh.
"No! I am not mad. Etelka does not love me; nor will she ever love me, and she is right. She is too good for the like of me."
"You ought never to take any wine, Kalman; it makes you sad."
"So youdidsee it? And she, too, is disgusted with me! I will leave the country! I will go to aplace where nobody knows me! where your sister will not be annoyed by my presence!"
Kalman's lamentations were here cut short by Akosh, who, on being informed of the reason of this extraordinary distress, pledged his word that he would reconcile his sister to his friend; and Kalman's grief having given way to the hope of fresh favour, the two young men turned back to the house to find Etelka, and to solicit and obtain her pardon for any offence which her lover might have committed. But fate had willed it otherwise.
Old Kishlaki, misled by the excitement of the day, had taken rather more wine than he ought to have done; his ideas were consequently less steady than they might have been. A match between Miss Rety and his son had always been among his pet projects. Urged on by the conviviality of the day, he had undertaken to address the Retys, and to solicit their daughter's hand for Mr. Kalman Kishlaki, his son and heir. Rety's answer to this unexpected offer was that he could not presume to judge of his daughter's inclinations; and the Lady Rety, in her turn, gave Mr. Kishlaki to understand that it would be more wise to reserve matters of such moment for the period after the election. The good man was too much excited to understand the realmeaning of these answers. He fancied that everything was arranged; and, walking from group to group, he told the great secret to every one whom he met.
The Cortes were meanwhile actively employed in rehearsing their votes for the election. They had already disposed of some of the lower places, and they now proceeded to elect Kalman Kishlaki a justice of the district. They strained every nerve of their lungs in shouting "Eljen Kalman Kishlaki!" Old Kishlaki was transported with joy, but he was grieved that his son's glorification should be lost within the walls of the barn. He called his servant, and informing him of the great secret, he hinted at the pleasure Miss Rety was sure to feel if the Cortes were to seize Kalman and to carry him in triumph to her room. The servant was, of course, quite of his master's opinion. He made his way to the barn, shouted "Halljuk!" and spoke so much to the purpose that the whole crowd of electors consented to accompany him to the garden. We ought to observe that Kishlaki's messenger gained his point chiefly by informing the Cortes of the proposed alliance between Etelka and Kalman.
The three hundred noblemen of St. Vilmosh set up a deafening shout of "Eljen!" and directed their steps to the garden, while old Kishlaki wept withjoy, and muttered: "Hej! it is a fine thing to be so popular!"
Akosh and Kalman were close to the house when they met Kishlaki with all the Cortes at his heels. The old man had just time to embrace his son, and to cry out, "Do you hear it, Kalman? This is meant for you, my boy!" The very next moment they were surrounded by the men of St. Vilmosh. Their shout of "Eljen Kalman Kishlaki! Etelka Rety!" put a stop to all further conversation. The two young men were astonished. They did not know what to do or to say. But when old Kishlaki's servant proposed that the young man should be taken to "Miss Etelka, his betrothed bride;" and when a score of arms were stretched out to seize the fortunate lover, then it was that Kalman began to see how matters stood. He resisted, he prayed, he imprecated; and his father, too, who had no idea of proclaiming the affair inthisway, did his utmost to prevail upon them to leave Miss Rety's name unmentioned. His endeavours were in vain. Kalman's resistance was of no avail. There was a sudden rush—a scuffle—and he found himself hoisted on the shoulders of a couple of stout fellows. His hair was dishevelled and his coat torn. He had lost his cravat and his hat. But the crowd, unmindful ofthese drawbacks to the personal graces of their favourite, bore him onward to the apartments of his mistress. Great was the uproar, and violent were their cheers of "Eljen Kalman and Etelka!"
The guests in the house rushed to the door, and, hearing the names of Kalman and Etelka, they turned to the sheriff and wished him joy. Mr. Rety received their congratulations with a sickly smile. Lady Rety, though mindful of Kishlaki's influence, protested with some warmth that there must be some mistake. But Karvay raised his powerful voice in honour of the young couple, whose St. Vilmosh friends had by this time arrived at the threshold of Etelka's room.
Kalman was more dead than alive. He was about to appear before the lady of his love with his coat torn and his hair out of curl, and borne on the arms of three hundred Cortes! Entreaties, tears, imprecations—all were in vain; and they certainly would have introduced him to Miss Rety in the most disgraceful plight that ever lover faced his mistress in, if that lady had been in the room. But, when the door opened, they discovered in her stead Rosi, Miss Rety's maid, and at her side no less a personage than the hopeful notary of St. Vilmosh. This event brought matters to a favourable crisis. Akosh interfered, and pointing out to the assembly that a justice must needs have a juror, and that nobody was better qualified to fill that office than his friend, the notary of St. Vilmosh, he caused that gifted individual to be raised on the arms of the Cortes, who carried him after the justice that was to be, and at length presented both justice and juror to the sheriff.
It need scarcely be said that Rosi was greatly shocked, but she became comforted on beholding her beloved notary on the shoulders of the Cortes, and when she understood that the public voice designated her chosen husband to fill the office of juror. She busied herself with arranging the things in the room, which had been put in disorder by the tumultuous entry of the Cortes. While she was thus occupied she heard Mr. Catspaw's voice in the next room (which was his own). He was, it appears, in the act of dismissing some individual, for he said:—
"Well, then, at seven o'clock precisely, near the notary's garden."
"Yes, your lordship! I mean to be punctual, your lordship," said another voice, which, though Oriental, did not seem to belong to a Hungarian.
"You know your reward," rejoined Mr. Catspaw, as his interlocutor left the room.
"Confusion!" exclaimed the frightened maid."Mr. Catspaw was in his room! He knows all now, for he is wondrous sharp of hearing. What if he were to peach to my lady?" And uttering maledictions on the head of the attorney and his Jew, Rosi locked the door of her mistress's room and made the best of her way to the kitchen.
The sheriff had meanwhile informed the most influential of his guests that he wished them to meet him for the purpose of a consultation. The Dons of the county assembled in the dining-room, which had been arranged for the sittings of a committee. In a corner of this room, which was ornamented with Rety's family portraits, and which still retained a faint smell of the dinner, there were three men of note standing together. They were Mr. Slatzanek, the agent and plenipotentiary of the Count Kovary; Baron Shoskuty; and Mr. Kriver, the recorder. Their conversation ran in the most natural course, that is to say, it turned on the chances of the election.
"Are you sure," said Mr. Slatzanek, addressing the recorder, "of that wretched Vetshösy having joined Bantornyi's party?"
"I grieve to say that there can be no doubt about it."
"Did I not always tell you," cried the Baron—"did I not tell you a thousand times that I suspected Vetshösy? Three years ago, just a fortnight before the election, on a Friday afternoon, unless I am mistaken, I met you, Mr. Kriver, at the coffee-house. There were some of us, and some officers likewise, and I lighted my pipe and sat by you, and I said: 'That fellow Vetshösy——'"
"You were quite right, sir; but——"
"That fellow Vetshösy, said I, is a liberal, and, what is worse, he talks of his principles; he has some property, and——"
"Just so!" interposed Slatzanek. "Vetshösy is an influential man; the more fools we for making him justice of a district in which there are so many votes; but——"
"I know what you are about to say!" cried the Baron. "He might be gained over. Now, I'll tell you, I live in his district. Very well then, what do you say to a hunt—a legal hunt—a wolf hunt? We will have the peasants to drive the game. You will all come, and he, as justice of the district, must be one of us. Of course our wolf hunt is but a legal fiction, but he, as district judge, must be one of us, and we'll snare him, that we will."
"Alas!" sighed the recorder, "this is well and good; but the great obstacle is your son, the youngBaron. He has more influence in the county than you have, and he is against us."
"Devil of a boy! devil of a boy!" cried the Baron, "and yet how often did I not say: My son Valentine——"
"Suppose you were to exert your paternal authority?"
"Just so! You are right. My paternal authority authorises me to force my boy to any thing I like. And we are always of the same opinion, that boy and I; and he obeys me in all things, that boy does; and I think he had better, so he had! but on that one subject he is most unreasonable, I tell you."
"But it is on that very subject that he ought to yield to your superior wisdom."
"You are right! indeed you are. I'll disinherit that boy, confound me if I do not!"
Slatzanek, who was aware that the old Baron had very little to leave, and whose sagacity taught him to expect little or no effect from so vague a threat of a remote contingency, inquired whether there was no other means of compelling the young man; to which the Baron replied that there was no lack of means, especially if the lad could but be induced to marry.
"You have no idea, sir, how strongly marriagetells upon a man," said he, "especially in our family. When I was a bachelor, I was the most liberal man you could meet with in three counties any summer's day; and at present——. But the boy won't marry!"
"How do we stand in this district?" said Slatzanek, addressing Mr. Kriver.
"As bad as can be. Tengelyi is against us."
"Tengelyi!" cried the Baron. "Tengelyi indeed! A mere village notary! Bless my soul! Tengelyi! How many Tengelyis does it take, do you think, to facemeat the election?"
"Alas!" said Slatzanek, "votes are counted in this country, and not weighed; I know few men that are more powerful than this notary."
"And Akosh Rety," suggested Mr. Kriver, "does not indeed oppose us, but that is all."
"Ah!" cried the Baron; "just like my own son! I said just now——"
"However, if the Kishlakis stand but by us, we are pretty certain of this district."
"But we cannot rely on the Kishlakis," said Kriver. "Kalman is out of temper; he is jealous of the Count Harashy."
"You don't say so! Miss Rety was proclaimed as his future wife."
"Ay, but the Cortes did it," whispered the recorder, "and it struck me that Lady Rety was not at all pleased."
"You are right," said the Baron. "It struck me too. I sat by Lady Rety, talking of the weather, when the Cortes bore Kalman about, and when I heard them shouting,—'Dear lady,' said I——"
"We must be careful," said Slatzanek; "I fear ours is a bad position."
"As for me," said Mr. Kriver, "you are aware of my zeal; and I assure you that I will keep our partyau courantof all the enemy's manœuvres."
"And to know your adversary's plans is half the battle!" cried the Baron, clapping his hands.
"Oh! if the noblemen in the county were all like my own tenants!" cried Slatzanek. "They vote with me; if they do not, they lose their farms. They are the men for an election!"
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the sheriff, and the labours of the committee commenced in due form with a provisional election of functionaries: Rety came in for the shrievalty; Mr. Kriver, the recorder, was appointed his Vice; and almost every one of the persons present obtained the promise of a place, either forhimself or a friend. This done, the committee directed their attention to the means of fighting the battle of the real election; and, after a lengthened conversation on the usual electioneering tactics,—the favouring of a class, the kidnapping of electors, and the devising of plans for the especial annoyance of the hostile party, it was finally resolved to arrange the reception of the Lord-Lieutenant, who was to conduct the election, in such a manner as to impress that great functionary with a favourable opinion of the Rety party. But the most arduous duty of the committee was the "finding the ways and means" for the confirmation of their political friends, and the conciliation of such among the enemy's troops as had some scruples about the justice of the cause which they had espoused. But Slatzanek's talents of persuasion, and the Lady Rety's sarcastic remarks, prevailed against the prudential considerations of certain timid assessors and justices; and the subscription having terminated to the general satisfaction of Rety and his friends, the meeting dispersed.
While the committee were carrying on their deliberations in the castle of Tissaret, the house of the notary stood in peaceful tranquillity, and only the lights, which shone through the windows, gave evidence of the presence of its inhabitants. The house had two rooms fronting the street; one of these apartments, which had a back door communicating with the court-yard, was devoted to the use of Tengelyi, who kept his papers in it. The other room, which opened into the former apartment and the kitchen, was occupied by Mrs. Ershebet and her daughter. The kitchen had two doors, one leading to the garden, and the other to the yard. Next the kitchen was the store-room in which Viola had been hidden. At the further end of the house was the servants' room, and a small chamber in which lay Viola's wife. Tengelyi had spent the day at Tsherepesh, at Mr. Bantornyi's house; for the Bantornyi party, too, had their meetings and committees. Mrs. Ershebet, and Vandory who had dinedat the notary's, were in the sick chamber, and Etelka and Vilma sat chatting in the second front room.
"Then you did not see him after all!" said Etelka. "'Tis a pity. I would give any thing to meet Viola, for I take a great interest in him."
"Howcanyou talk in that way! God knows I pity the poor man; but I certainly do not wish to make his acquaintance. You are bold and courageous! but as for me, I am sure it would kill me to see him. They say he is a murderer."
"Nonsense! a man who is so fond of his wife as Viola cannot be so wicked as they say he is. I do not know of any man—except your father—who would brave so great a danger to see his wife under such circumstances: I can admire that love, even in a robber; and thus I too wish to be beloved, no matter by whom!"
"If that can satisfy you," said Vilma, "I am sure there is nothing but what Kalman will do for you."
"Always excepting the being sober, and eschewing swearing, and all the clumsy affectation of a cavalier. Kalman would do any thing for me, but the one thing I ask him to do."
"Now you are unjust. I am sure he would leap into the fire for your sake."
"Of course he would, especially if some of his friends were present to extol his bravery. Kalman is very brave; it is his nature to be so; he cannot help it. He has many good qualities, I grant, but pray do not tell me that he loves me."
"I see you are again at odds with him. What is his crime?"
"He—but never mind! I will not talk about it. I cannot respect him, nor can I believe that he loves me."
"Akosh has a far different opinion of him."
"So he has!" rejoined Etelka; "but may I not question the justness of his views? Men are wont to prize their friends for those qualities which are of the greatest use to them. A good sportsman, a man that sticks to his word, and who will fight a duel for his friend at a moment's warning—such a man is their idol; they are half astonished, and more than half disgusted that we should ask for more. But I do!"
Vilma was silent. She saw that Etelka was hurt, and Etelka too wished to change the topic of their conversation. Addressing Vilma again, she said:—
"I can fancy your father's disgust last night, when he came home and learned what had happened."
"I never saw him in such a state. But Vandory came with him; he succeeded in quieting my father. I tremble when I think of it. He says he will have his right in this business."
"Never fear," said Etelka.
"But do you know whom he suspects of being the cause? He lays it all at the door of your father and mother?"
"Of mystepmother; and I am afraid he is right in his suspicions."
"Yes; but my father is again angry with all your family, except yourself. He is most violent against Akosh, who saved us from ruin. Only think if they had searched the house and found Viola! My father——"
"He will never know it."
"But if my father were to bring an action against Mr. Skinner? He protests he will do it."
"He will never do it. He was angry at the time, and I am sure he will reconsider the subject. But do not speak to him about it. If he knew it, he would not keep quiet, and there are many people who would be glad of any opportunity of showing their enmity against him."
"That's what old Mother Liptaka said. But youcannot think how distressing my situation is. I, who never kept any thing secret from my father, must now face him with an untruth. Every noise alarms me; for with my secret I lose my father's love. Oh! I cannot bear it!"
"And yet you must bear it," replied Etelka, embracing the weeping girl. "The peace of mind and the welfare of your father demand this sacrifice."
"I think so too," said Vilma; "but then you have no idea how kind my father is, and how I long to kneel down and confess my fault to him!"
"My poor Vilma," sighed Miss Rety, "I am at a loss whether I am to pity you, or to envy you. I am not in a position to confide in my parent. But be comforted: trust me, things will be altered. I understand my father is to resign after the election, and Mr. Tengelyi's anger will subside. Vandory will perhaps provide for Viola's wife. In a few weeks you will be able to tell your father all your sorrows."
"But what am I to do in the meantime? Viola came, though he knew that the whole village was in arms against him. The Liptaka tells me that he loves his wife more than I can think or understand. May he not come to-morrow, or to-night, or anytime?—Jesus Maria!" shrieked Vilma, turning her pale face to the garden—"there he is!"
"Who?" asked Etelka, looking in the same direction.
"He! he is gone now,—but trust me, there he stood! I saw his face quite plainly!"
"Do you speak of Viola? Believe me you will not see him here, so long as Mr. Skinner, with half the county at his back, keeps infesting the place. How foolish and how pale you are! Come. I will fetch you a glass of water; it will do you good."
Just as Etelka got up to leave the room, some one outside knocked softly at the door.
"Oh, pray do not go!" cried Vilma. "Who can it be that knocks. It is so late! I fear——"
"Some one for your father; but we'll see. Come in!" said Etelka.
The door opened, and a Jew entered with many low bows and entreaties to excuse the liberty he was taking in saying good evening to the high and gracious ladies.
Vilma's fear, and the Jew's humility, formed so strange a contrast, that Etelka could not repress a smile, especially when she saw that Vilma remained still in bodily fear of the stranger, who stood quietly by the door, turning his brimless hat in his hands.His appearance was not that of a robber; on the contrary, he was a sickly and unarmed man; still his aspect was of a kind to make even a bold man feel uncomfortable in his presence. Jantshi, or John, the glazier (such at least was his name inthiscounty) was the ugliest man in the whole kingdom of Hungary. His diminutive body seemed as if bowed down by the weight of his gigantic head; his face was marked with the small-pox, and more than one-half of it was covered with a forest of red hair, and a wiry, dirty beard of the same colour. He had lost one of his eyes—its place was covered with a black patch; the searching and roving look of his other eye, his shuffling gait, and his cringing politeness, made him an object of suspicion and dislike to every one that chanced to meet him. Even Etelka felt disagreeably touched by the man's looks, and she became positively alarmed when Vilma whispered to her, that that was the face which she had seen at the window.
"Mr. Tengelyi is out, I tell you," said Etelka. "You may come to-morrow morning."
"Most gracious lady," said the Jew, still turning his hat and looking round, "this is indeed a misfortune! I have some pressing business with the high-born Mr. Tengelyi."
"Well then, come back in half-an-hour; perhaps he'll be home to supper."
"If so, may I wait outside?" asked the Jew, without, however, moving from the place where he stood. "Has his worship any dogs?"
"Dogs?" said Vilma.
"Yes, if there are no dogs in the yard I can wait; but if there are any I cannot wait. I am afraid of them."
"You may wait!" said Etelka, angrily; "there are no dogs in the house."
"Yes: but there may be some in the next house. I am a stranger, and it was but last year, in the third village from here, that the dogs nearly tore me to pieces. Since that time I fear them." And the stranger told them a long story, how he was walking through the village, how the dogs attacked him, and how he was saved by a shepherd who happened to hear his cries. "Bless me!" added the Jew, "if that man had not come they would have torn my cloak, and it was a very good cloak; it was not new, but it was a good cloak, for I bought it at Pesth for five florins and thirty kreutzers."
The Jew was so cunning, and withal so awkward, that Etelka could not help laughing at him; but Vilma felt uncomfortable, and asked him to go andcome back in half an hour. Whereupon the Jew said that he would wait in the servants' room.
"No!" said Vilma; "there is a sick woman lying close by the servants' room; besides, we have told you over and over again that you must come back in half an hour, and that you shall not stay."
The Jew bowed very humbly, and walking to the door which led into the kitchen, he opened it.
"Stop!" said Vilma; "where are you going to?"
"I throw myself at your feet! I ask a thousand pardons! I am so confused. May I go through that door into the yard?"
"That door is locked. Get out by the door through which you came in."
The Jew made another low bow, and walked across Tengelyi's room to the door by which he had entered; not, however, without looking to the adjoining room, dropping his hat on the floor, and turning the handle of the door in every direction but the right one, while his eye seemed to peer into and examine every corner of the apartment.
"What do you say to that?" asked Vilma, when he was gone; "I will bet you any thing that fellow is a spy."
"Nothing is more likely; for he seems to be capable of any thing, and in war he would certainly act as a spy. But why should he exercise that noble trade in your house?"
"He was looking after Viola and his wife. You know how eager Mr. Skinner is to arrest the robber."
"I know that yesterday he was in pursuit of the poor man; but to-day he has other matters to think of. No, I am sure the Jew has some request or some complaint to make to your father."
"But he asked so many questions; he looked into every corner of the room."
"He was afraid of the dogs, and perhaps he hoped to discover a broken pane of glass. It would have been a job for him, you know."
But Vilma was by no means easy in her mind. She was about to give vent to a great many more fears, when Tengelyi's arrival put a stop to the conversation.
While his daughter took charge of his hat and cane, the notary turned to Etelka.
"I was hardly prepared to find Miss Rety here," said he, "there are so many guests at the Castle."
"Are you not aware that their presence at the Castle adds to my reasons for coming here?"
"Indeed! I fancied that these gentlemen could not be sufficiently honoured just before the election."
Etelka's feelings were hurt, and she was at a loss what to say; but Vilma, who wished to turn the conversation into another channel, asked her father whether he had not met a Jew, who had just left the house.
"I did meet him," said the notary. "I found him near my door, talking to Mr. Catspaw. By the by, now I think of it, Mr. Catspaw asked me to give his compliments to Miss Rety, and to inform her that he is going to send a servant with a lanthorn. They are going to supper; the sheriff has several times asked for Miss Rety."
"But what did the Jew want with you? He was very pressing; he wanted to see you on business of great importance."
"Business? ay, yes, it's a sorry business to him, though good sport to others. The poor fellow did a job at the Castle, and the very praiseworthy Cortes of the county took his glass chest and broke it for him; and because he was not at all amused, or because he is a Jew, or one-eyed, or Heaven knows why they thrashed him. It's a trifling matter, you see," said the notary, addressing Miss Rety, "for some people must be beaten at an election, especially Jews, merelyto give the new officers something to do, and to convince the sufferers that, as far as they are concerned, things have remained much the same as they were before."
"But, father dear, this is indeed horrible," said Vilma.
"Nothing more simple, dearest child. What were an Hungarian's liberties worth, if he were not allowed to thrash a Jew? But the affair has been settled. Mr. Catspaw has promised to pay for the glass, and I am very much mistaken if the Jew does not make the attorney pay for the beating too."
Mrs. Ershebet and the clergyman entered the room. Etelka kissed her friend and returned to the Castle.
It was but natural that while the Conservative party at Tissaret made so many preparations for the election, Mr. Bantornyi's cooks and butlers should be equally busy. Tserepesh was the seat of Bantornyi's party, whose numbers surpassed those of Rety's adherents. Almost all the great landowners of the county, with the exception of Kishlaki, Shoskuty, and Slatzanek, resorted to Tserepesh. Their enthusiasm (to judge from the noise they made) was unbounded, and their chief strength consisted in the support of the younger and consequently more liberal members of the community. But Mr. Kriver, who sided with either party, had his reasons for doubting the ultimate success of the Bantornyis. He was aware that excepting himself, the prothonotary, and a few vice-justices, all the placemen of the county belonged to the Conservative party, which did the more credit to their disinterestedness and foresight, as it was well known that Bantornyi was leagued with men, who, like himself, aspired for the first time to the honours and caresof office, a policy whose edge will sometimes turn against him who uses it. Besides, (and this is indeed Mr. Kriver's chief ground of doubt,) Bantornyi's party had resolved to act upon the mind of the Cortes by persuasion, and to eschew bribery. This sublime, but rather impractical idea emanated from Tengelyi, whose motion to that effect was so zealously supported by Bantornyi's friends (excepting always the candidates for office), that the recorder's eloquence and Bantornyi's entreaties were of no avail against this virtuous resolution of theirs. In justice to Bantornyi we ought to say, that he and his family strove to make up for this fault, and his noble friends were never in want of either wine or brandy; but this rash resolution which the Retys published with their own commentaries was nevertheless a serious drawback to the success of the party. Well might the Bantornyis agitate for the emancipation of the Jews (so the Rety party said) since they were stingier than a thousand Jews; they despised the nobility because they refused to treat its members. Bantornyi's secret donations were fairly smothered by these public calumnies. Kriver was perfectly justified in protesting that what the party wanted was thepower of publicity. Rety's men, on the other hand, perambulated the villages; they boregaudy flags; they had their houses of resort; they distributed feathers among the men and ribbons among the women; the very children in the streets were gained over to them. Every noble fellow knew that it would be three zwanzigers in his pocket if Rety was returned. And the Bantornyis walked about empty-handed, appealing to moral force! They had not even the ghost of a chance; the candidates for office became dissatisfied and talked of effecting a compromise with the enemy, and there is no saying what they might have done but for a most unexpected event, which caused them to rally round their leader.
The lord-lieutenant wrote to inform Mr. Bantornyi of his intention to visit the county, and of staying a night at Tserepesh. The letter which contained this welcome intelligence was in his Excellency's own handwriting, and the sensation produced in the county was of course immense. The lord-lieutenant had always taken up his quarters in Rety's house. Now Rety was a renegade. An old liberal, he had joined the Conservative party. And the lord-lieutenant, scorning Rety's proffered hospitality, turns to the house of his antagonist. His Excellency was a liberal at heart, and that wasthe secret—at least in the opinion of the Tserepesh people. The Rety party were a little shocked. They said, of course, that his Excellency consulted but his own convenience; that Bantornyi's house was the most convenient place onthatroad, and that the inns in that part of the county were villanous; but in their inmost souls they denounced this step as the greatest political fault which his Excellency could have committed, and which, they were sure,mustlead to his downfall. The anti-bribery party were positive that the high functionary was aware of the despicable means which the Retys employed to get their chief returned, and that he claimed Bantornyi's hospitality only to express his disgust at the unlawful practices of bribery and corruption. It need scarcely be said that Tengelyi was a zealous supporter of the latter opinion. But whatever reasons the Count Maroshvölgyi had for going to Tserepesh, certain it is that the news of his coming gave the Bantornyis hopes, and more than hopes of success. It steadied the wavering ranks of their partizans and recruited their number by a crowd of would-be candidates. The day appointed for the Count's arrival saw the house of the Bantornyis thronged with anti-bribery men; and though his Excellency was not expected before nightfall, it wasall but impossible to cross the hall at nine o'clock in the morning.
Bantornyi's house was one of those buildings with which every traveller in Hungary must be acquainted. It was a castellated mansion with nine windows; a large gate in the middle, and a tower at each of its four corners. The interior of these buildings is always the same. An ascent of three stone steps leads you to the gate, and walking through a large stone-paved hall you enter the dining-room, to the right of which are the apartments of the lady of the house, and to the left the rooms destined for the use of the landlord and his guests. Bantornyi's castle was built on this plan; but, ever since the return from England of Mr. Jacob—orJamesBantornyi—(for he delighted most in the English reading of his name) Mr. Lajosh Bantornyi had come to be a stranger in his own house.
There is in England a very peculiar thing which is commonly known by the name ofcomfort. Mr. James had made deep investigations into the nature and qualities of this peculiar British "thing" (as he called it). Indeed he had come to understand and master it. The "thing," viz. comfort, is chiefly composed of three things: first, that a man's home be built as irregularly as possible; secondly, that therebe an abundance of small galleries and narrow passages, and no lack of steps near the doors of the rooms; and, thirdly, that the street-door be fastened with a Bramah lock and key. Curtains and low arm-chairs are capital things in their way; but most indispensable are some truly English fire-places fit for burning coal, for it is the smoke of coal which gives a zest to English comfort. When Mr. James Bantornyi returned from England, he rebuilt the family mansion on a plan which was suggested by "Loudon's Encyclopedia of Cottage Architecture." The new building which did so much honour to his taste, was not above one story high; but one of the old towers, which communicated with the new house, was built higher, and (in spite of Mr. Lajosh's protests) provided with a wooden staircase. A verandah was constructed on that side of the house which fronted the garden, and an antechamber and a billiard-room were built in the yard. The giant oaks of an English park were indeed but indifferently imitated by a few Mashanza apple trees; but the garden walls, which Mr. James caused to be painted red and yellow, gave a tolerable idea of the unpainted walls of an English landscape. The stables were, of course, condemned to similar improvements; and the grooms were threatened with instant dismissal if they presumed to do their work without that peculiar hissing noise which English grooms are wont to make in the exercise of their professional avocations. Stairs, steps, passages, verandahs, curtains, fireplaces, and arm-chairs—in short, every thing was there; and the Bramah lock was famous throughout the county; for once upon a time, when Mr. James had gone to Pesth, the street-door was found to be locked, and the key (by some inexplicable mischance) lost; nor could the family enter the house or leave it in any other way than by climbing through the windows of the verandah, until Mr. James, who had the other key fastened to his watch chain, returned from his journey and opened the door. The old castle, which was inhabited by Mr. Lajosh, had escaped most of these improvements; but Mr. James caused his elder brother to consent to some alterations being made in the dining-room. It was moreover pronounced to be a high crime and misdemeanour to smoke in any part of the house.
While Mr. Lajosh Bantornyi was busy in receiving and complimenting his guests, his brother James and Mr. Kriver were walking in the garden. James was evidently out of spirits. He shook his head, stood still, walked and shook his head again, beat his boots with a hunting-whip, and replied to the recorder'sremarks with "most true," "yes," "indeed," and other expressions of English parliamentary language.
"I am sure," said Mr. Kriver, in a whisper, "I am sure we are losing our labour, unless we have a committee-room and some flags. Your spending money is of no use. Your brother's popularity will not do him any good. They take your money, but they don't come to the election, andifthey come, they are kidnapped by Rety's party."
"You are right, my friend, which means, I agree with you; but what the devil shall we do?"
"Induce your brother to get up some English affair, somemoting, ormeeting, or some such thing."
"Meeting, fromto meet, which means that people meet. I hope you understand the derivation of the word!"
"That's it! We ought to get up something like a meeting where people meet and drink."
"You are mistaken. That drinking business is altogether a different affair: they call it a 'political dinner.' But youmeetto discuss a question; and people sign their names to petitions by hundreds of thousands and more, and such a petition tells upon the government. I attended such a meeting at Glasgow, but——"
Nothing can equal the horror which Mr. Kriverfelt when he saw Mr. James prepared to favour him with a sketch of his travels. "Ah! I know," said the recorder quickly, "you, too, signed the petition; it was when you made that agitation about the Poor Law. But to return to what I was saying, we ought to give a political dinner, and you ought to make a speech, and state the principles of the party."
"No; they drink the king's health first, and the health of the members of the royal family, for the dynasty ought to be honoured. A man is at liberty to say of the government whatever he pleases; but the king, you know, the king must be honoured. That's the liberty of an Englishman. Next——"
"The lord-lieutenant."
"Shocking! You are quite in the dark about it. After the royal family we must have some class toasts; for example, the Church, army, and navy."
"I'm afraid those toasts would do little good. There is a strong feeling against the Papists; that toast of the Church is enough to send all our Protestants to—Rety."
"You are quite right. Our Dissenters hate our High Church as much as the English Dissenters hate theirs. But I don't see why we should not toast 'the Church.' Every man drinks to his own Church; but if they were to accuse us of sympathy for theRoman Catholics, where's the harm? Only think how closely the Whigs were leagued with O'Connell!"
"My friend," said Mr. Kriver, "you know England; but I know this county. Our countrymen cannot understand and appreciate your ideas."
"Yes!" said Mr. James, highly flattered, "I am sure they cannot. But the army we must have."
"Of course, if you wish it. But the great thing is to make it a regular, downright, out-and-out, drinking bout."
"But what in the world are we to do? My brother and I have gone all lengths. We have spent a year's income on this confounded election."
"Nor is money the thing we want, if we can but make some grand demonstration. But unless our people get their feathers and colours, we are winged. Do but induce your brother to act like a man; we are sure to gain the day."
"We have promised to employ none but honourable means——"
"To get the majority. But the means which I propose are, inmyopinion, most honourable. Is there any thing dishonourable in hospitality?"
"Certainly not; and I grant you the resolution admits of various interpretations. But some people there are who do not think so."
"Nonsense! When we passed that silly resolution, there were indeed lots of fools that voted with Tengelyi; but why did they do it? Because they were not booked for a place, and because they were afraid for their money. But with your own money you are quite at liberty to buy as many Cortes as you please."
"But Tengelyi!"
"Tengelyi! What of him? And suppose he were to leave us, what then? He is an honest man, I grant you; but after all, he is only a village notary."
"His influence is great, especially with the clergy; and ifhewere to oppose us——"
"Oppose us? Impossible! Tengelyi is more impracticable than any man ever was. No matter whether you insult him or flatter him, you lose your pains. The good man fancies that a village notary's conviction goes beyond every thing. Besides, he will never vote for Rety's party; and if he votes for them, I know of something that will play the devil with his influence."
"Well?"
"Tengelyi," whispered Kriver, "is not a nobleman."
"Not a——! can it be possible?"
"I am sure of it. You know that fellow Catspaw is a crony of mine. Old Rety was Tengelyi's friend, though they hate one another now; and old Rety knows all Tengelyi's secrets. Catspaw told me that the notary has not a rag of paper to prove his noble descent by. The prothonotary, too, is aware of it, though he keeps his counsel; and so do we, if he votes for us. But if he turns against us, we have him close enough in a corner."
The prothonotary, who at this moment came up, confirmed Mr. Kriver's statement; and Mr. James pledged his word as a gentleman to hoist the colours of the party, and to invite the whole county to a political dinner.
The day passed amidst Mr. James's varied, and indeed interesting, accounts of the Doncaster races, and the debates of the English parliament—accounts which were given seriatim to small knots of guests in every corner of every room in the house; while Mrs. James Bantornyi was busy superintending the arrangement of the apartments destined for the lord-lieutenant's use. In the evening Mr. Lajosh Bantornyi was in a state of great excitement. He walked restlessly to and fro, pulled out his watch, and looked at it. He walked out into the park and came back again, addressing every one he met with: "Reallyhis Excellency ought to be here by this time!" Whereupon some of the guests said: "Yes, so he ought!" and others protested that his Excellency must have been detained on the road. The words of "contra" and "pagat ultimo" rung from the card table; and the noise of a political discussion, in which no less than thirty persons joined, intent on reconciling twelve opinions on four different subjects, drowned the complaints of Mr. Lajosh Bantornyi. But Mr. James, who saw and pitied his brother's distress, mounted his horse, and, accompanied by two torch-bearers, set out to meet the lord-lieutenant on the road. He was scarcely gone when the din of an angry discussion broke through the dense cloud of smoke which enveloped the card-tables.
"Mr. Sheriff, this is unsupportable; this is!" cried a man with a sallow and somewhat dirty face. It was Mr. Janoshy, an assessor, and a man of influence. "Mr. Sheriff, I won't stand it. Penzeshy has saved his pagat!"
"Has he indeed? Well then, there is no help for it, if he has saved it."
"But I covered it."
"But why did you cover it?"
"Because I have eight taroks."
"Eight taroks! Why then, in the name of h—ll, did you not take it?"
"Why, what didyoulead spades for?"
"What the deuce do you mean, sir?"
"Clubs, sir! It was your bounden duty, sir, to lead clubs, sir," said Janoshy, very fiercely.
"Clubs be ——! Do you mean to tell me, sir, that I ought to have played my king? I'd see you——"
"I appeal to you!" cried Janoshy, addressing Penzeshy, who was shuffling the cards, while the company thronged round the table.
"Go on!" said Mr. Kriver.
"This is not fair play!" cried Janoshy.
"I play to please myself and not you," retorted the sheriff.
"Then you ought to play by yourself, but not formymoney!"
"Here's your stake! take it and welcome!"
"I won't stand it. By G—d I won't!" cried Mr. Janoshy, jumping up. "You, sir! you take the money back, or give it to your servant, (poor fellow! it's little enough he gets); but don't talk to me in that way, sir! I won't stand it, sir!"
Here the altercation was interrupted by the generalinterference of every man in the room, and in the confusion of tongues which ensued, nothing was heard but the words, "pagat,—sheriff—good manners—tous les trois"—until Shoskuty, in a blue dress embroidered with gold (for every body was in full dress), entered the room. He silenced the most noisy by being noisier still. "Domini spectabiles!" cried Shoskuty, "for God's sake be quiet, Mr. Janoshy is quite hoarse, and I am sure his Excellency is coming. That confounded pagat!—only think of his Excellency!—though it was saved—for after all we are but mortal men!—I am sure he is hoarse;" and thus he went on, when of a sudden the doors of the apartment were flung open and a servant rushed in shouting, "His Excellency is at the door!"
"Is he? Goodness be—where's my sabre?" cried Shoskuty, running to the antechamber which served as a temporary arsenal, while the rest of the company ran into the next room, where they fought for their pelisses.
"I do pray,domine spectabilis! but this is mine. It's green with ermine!" cried the recorder, stopping one of the assessors who had just donned his pelisse, and who turned to look for his sword. The assessor protested with great indignation, and the recorder was at length compelled to admit his mistake.Disgusted as he was, he dropped his kalpac, which was immediately trodden down by the crowd.
"'Sblood! where is my sword? Terrem tette!" shouted Janoshy, making vain endeavours to push forward into the sword room, while Shoskuty, who had secured his weapon, was equally unsuccessful in his struggles to obtain his pelisse.
"But I pray! Idopray! I am the speaker of the deputation—blue and gold—I must have it—do but consider!" groaned the worthy baron. His endeavours were at length crowned with success, and he possessed himself of a pelisse which certainly bore some similarity to his own. Throwing it over his shoulders Baron Shoskuty did his best to add to the general confusion by entreating the gentlemen to be quick, "for," added he, "his Excellency has just arrived!"
The lord-lieutenant's carriage had by this time advanced to the park palings, where the schoolboys and the peasantry greeted its arrival with maddening "Eljens!" The coachman was in the act of turning the corner of the gate, when the quick flash and the awful roar of artillery burst forth from the ditch at the road-side. His Excellency was surprised; so were the horses. They shied and overturned the carriage. The torch-bearing horsemengalloped about, frightening the village out of its propriety, as the foxes did, when Samson made them torch-bearers to the Philistines. Mr. James, following the impulse of the moment, came down over his horse's head; the deputation, who were waiting in Bantornyi's hall, wrung their hands with horror. At length the horses ceased rearing and plunging; and as the danger of being kicked by them was now fairly over, the company to a man rushed to welcome their beloved lord-lieutenant.
The deputation was splendid, at least in the Hungarian acceptation of the word, for all the dresses of all its members were richly embroidered. Shoskuty in a short blue jacket frogged and corded and fringed with gold, and with his red face glowing under the weight of a white and metal-covered kalpac, felt that the dignity of a whole county was represented by his resplendent person. Thrice did he bow to his Excellency, and thrice did the deputation rattle their spurs and imitate the movement of their leader, who, taking his speech from the pocket of his cloak, addressed the high functionary with a voice tremulous with emotion.
"At length, glorious man, hast thou entered the circle of thy admirers, and the hearts which hitherto sighed for thee, beat joyfully in thy presence!"
His Excellency unfolded a handkerchief ready for use; the members of the deputation cried "Helyesh!" and the curate of a neighbouring village, who had joined the deputation, became excited and nervous. The speaker went on.
"Respect and gratitude follow thy shadow; and within the borders of thy county there is no man but glories in the consciousness thatthouart his superior."
"He talks in print! he does indeed," whispered an assessor.
"I beg your pardon," said the curate, very nervously, "it wasIwho made that speech."
"Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ!These parsons are dreadfully jealous," said the assessor. Shoskuty, turning a leaf of his manuscript, proceeded:
"The flock which now stands before thee"—(here the members of the deputation looked surprised, and shook their heads)—"is but a small part of that numerous herd which feeds on thy pastures; and he who introduces them to thy notice"—(Shoskuty himself was vastly astonished)—"is not better than the rest: though he wears thy coat, he were lost but for thy guidance and correction."
The audience whispered among themselves, and the lord-lieutenant could not help smiling.
"For God's sake, whatareyou about?" whispered Mr. Kriver. "Turn a leaf!" Baron Shoskuty, turning a leaf, and looking the picture of blank despair, continued:
"Here thou seekest vainly for science—vainly for patriotic merits—vainly dost thou seek for all that mankind have a right to be proud of——"
The members of the deputation became unruly.
"They are peasants, thou beholdest,——"
Here a storm of indignation burst forth.
"In their Sunday dresses——"
"Are you mad, Baron Shoskuty?"
"But good Christians, all of them," sighed the wretched baron, with angelic meekness: "there is not a single heretic among my flock."
"He is mad! let us cheer!—Eljen! Eljen!"
"Somebody has given me the wrong pelisse!" said Shoskuty, making his retreat; while the lord-lieutenant replied to the address to the best of his abilities, that is to say, very badly, for he was half choked with suppressed laughter.
But the curate, who had displayed so unusual a degree of nervousness at the commencement of the address, followed Shoskuty to the next room, whither that worthy man fled to bemoan his defeat.
"Sir, how dare you steal my speech?" cried the curate.
"Leave me alone! I am a ruined man, and all through you!"
"Well, sir; this is well. You steal my speech, and read it. Now what am I to do? I made that speech, and a deal of trouble it gave me. Now what am I to tell the bishop at his visitation on Monday next?"
"But, in the name of Heaven, why did you take my cloak?"
"Yourcloak?"
"Yes;mycloak. I am sure my speech is in your pocket."
The curate searched the pockets of the pelisse, and produced a manuscript. "Dear me!" said he, wringing his hands; "itisyour cloak." And the discomfited orators were very sad, and would not be comforted.