A Hungarian Nabob Part 19

"I wish it had with all my soul!" roared Conrad, who now came rus.h.i.+ng up. "You are a d.a.m.ned fool, for you shot me instead of your opponent!

Look, gentlemen! You see that tree by which I was standing? Well, the bullet burrowed right into it. What! fire at your own seconds? Do you call that discretion? If that tree had not been there, I should have been as dead as a ducat--as dead as a ducat, I say!"

So this is what must have happened. At the very moment when Alexander's bullet whizzed past Karpathy's ear he must have been so startled by the shock as to have involuntarily wheeled round and clapped one hand to his ear, and the same instant the loaded pistol in his other hand must have gone off sideways. At any rate, Karpathy was found standing, after the shot was fired, _with his back to his opponent_.

He himself heard none of Conrad's reproaches, and the blood slowly began to trickle in little drops from his ear. He did not show it otherwise, but from the paleness of his face it was plain that he was suffering torments. The doctors whispered, too, that the membrane of the ear was ruptured, and that all his life long he would be hard of hearing.

Karpathy had to be conducted to his carriage. But for his sufferings he would have sworn. He would much rather have had a bullet in his lungs.

Rudolf and Michael then approached the seconds of the opposite party, and asked whether they considered the satisfaction given sufficient.

Livius admitted that everything was now perfectly in order, but Conrad declared that he was so completely satisfied with this duel that he would deserve to be called thief and robber if ever he took part in another as long as he lived.

"Then be so good, gentlemen, as to receipt this bill," said Alexander, turning to the seconds, and producing the written challenge which they had addressed to his master. "Kindly write at the bottom of it, 'Discharged in full.'"

The seconds laughed immensely at the idea, and, procuring a pen and ink from the first shanty they came to, they duly wrote at the bottom of the challenge the words, "Paid in full."

The young man thereupon thrust the attested doc.u.ment into his pocket, thanked his own seconds for their kind services, and returned on foot to town.

CHAPTER VII.

THE NABOB'S BIRTHDAY.

Squire John's birthday was approaching, and a famous, notable day it always was for the whole county of Szabolcs. The clergymen in all the surrounding villages ordered new frock-coats from Debreczin or Nagy-Kun-Madaras a month beforehand, at the same time directing the tailors to make the pockets "extra large;" the Lemberg firework-makers collected hay and straw far and wide for the rockets; the students of Debreczin learnt nice congratulatory odes, and set fine old folk-ballads to music; the gipsy _primas_ bought up all the resin in the shops he could lay his hands on, and the Strolling Players' Society began, in secret, to plan how they could best escape from Nyiregyhaza.[6]

[Footnote 6: The county town, where they had a standing engagement.]

In more distinguished circles, where prudent housewives are wont to take their unfortunate husbands in hand, and exercise towards them that office which guardian angels perform in heaven, and police-constables perform on earth, the advent of Squire John's birthday festival was the signal for domestic storms. The festival itself used to last for a week.

On the first day thereof every well-ordered female being fled from the place, and on the last day thereof those of the n.o.bler masculine race who had remained behind, came tottering home--some half-dead, others wholly drunk, and all of them more or less battered and penniless.

Squire John himself was so much accustomed to the delights of that day, that he would have considered the year lost in which he did not duly celebrate it; and any of his acquaintances who should have neglected to appear before him on the day itself would have been thenceforth regarded by him as his mortal enemies. Death was regarded as the one legitimate excuse.

The festivities were this year to be celebrated at the Castle of Karpatfalva, Squire John's favourite residence, where n.o.body ever lived but his cronies, his servants, and his dogs; and he obtained special permission from his Highness the Palatine to absent himself for a fortnight from his legislative duties at Pressburg, in order that, as a good host, he might devote himself entirely to his guests.

As the day approached, an unwonted piety used to take possession of Squire John. The buffoons and the peasant wenches were excluded from the castle, and his reverence the village priest took their place, and was closeted long and frequently with the squire; the dogs and the bears were locked out of the courtyard, that they might not, as usual, tear approaching mendicants to pieces; and the Nabob and all his retainers went to church to partake of the sacrament, the former vowing on his knees before the altar that he would mark the day by giving all his enemies the right hand of fellows.h.i.+p and forgiveness. Then came the regulation interview between the Nabob and his steward, Mr. Peter Varga, who was such a fool that he not only did not know how to steal, but was by no means willing to even receive presents except for services rendered. Anybody else in his place would long since have become a millionaire; but he had not got much beyond fastening a pair of silver spurs in his Kordovan leather boots, and making use of a ramshackle old _caleche_, to which he attached two horses, trained by his own hand ever since they were colts. This, moreover, was only when he wanted to cut a figure.

And now, too, we see him descending from this venerable conveyance. He forbears to drive right in, lest the cranky wheels of his carriage should cut up the beautiful round pebbles with which the courtyard is covered.

The inside of the carriage was chock-full of longish tied-up bundles of doc.u.ments, which Mr. Peter first of all crammed into the arms of the two heydukes hastening to meet him, and sent on before him, whilst he, picking his way along, with his spurred feet at a respectable distance from each other, straddled leisurely into the presence of Master Jock, who was awaiting him in the office of the family archives, whose gigantic whitewashed and gilded coffers, in their worm-eaten cases, rose up to the ceiling, filled with the mummies of old deeds and discharged accounts, which, for a long series of years, had been disturbed by n.o.body except an ostracized mouse or two; and what accursed appet.i.te or hereditary perversity constrained even them to feed upon such meagre fare, when the granaries and bacon-larders were in such tempting proximity, Heaven only knows.

Master Jock, on perceiving the approaching steward, leaned forward in his armchair, and held out his hand. Peter, however, instead of advancing straight towards the hand extended towards him, retreated backwards all round the large oak table, to avoid the discourtesy of approaching his honour from the left hand; and, even when he got where he thought he ought to be, he remained standing before him, at three paces' distance, and bowed with deep respect.

"Come, come, man! Draw nearer!" cried the confidential heyduke Palko,[7] who was also present. "Don't you see that his honour has been holding out his front paw for ever so long?"

[Footnote 7: _I.e._, Little Paul.]

"Crying your pardon," said the worthy steward, drawing his hands away, "I am not worthy of so much honour!"

And not for the whole world could he have been brought to extend his hand towards Master Jock, to whom he alone of all the world gave his proper t.i.tle. It was also impossible to ever get him to sit down by the side of his honour. Palko had to hold him down in a chair by main force, but he would always jump up again, and remain standing before his master as soon as the pressure was removed.

And, indeed, his honour, the steward, and the heyduke made up an odd-looking trio between them. Karpathy's face, at such moments, was always unusually serene, his great bald forehead shone like the cupola of a temple, the scanty remains of his grey hair curled round his forehead and the nape of his neck in silvery wisps; he was shaved beautifully smooth, save for a well-kept moustache curling elegantly upwards at both ends; the fiery redness of his eyes had vanished, and there was no longer any trace of deforming wrinkles.

Opposite him stood the worthy steward, with the old-fas.h.i.+oned, scrupulously obsequious, and infallibly respectful homage of a former generation writ large on every feature of his bronzed countenance. His moustache was clipped close to save trouble, but all the more care had he bestowed upon his marvellous powdered top-knot--itself a survival--which respectable elevation the worthy fellow revealed to the light of day, neatly bound up with a black ribbon. Behind him stands the old heyduke Palko in a laced dolman. He is just as old as they are.

All three have grown up together, all three have grown old together; and now, too, Palko is as familiar with his honour as he used to be in the days when they played and fought together in the courtyard. The old fellow's head is grey now, but not a hair of it has he lost, and its flowing abundance is brushed backwards and kept in its place by a circular comb; his moustache is more pointed than a shoemaker's awl, and waxed to a fearful extent at both ends; his features are so simple that a skilful artist could have hit them off in three strokes, only the colouring would have given him something to think about, for it is a little difficult to paint-in blood-red on scarlet.

"Would his honour," said Peter, standing by the table, "be graciously pleased to cast his eyes over these accounts? I have made so bold as to most humbly make out a brief summary thereof, that his honour may find the examination a little easier." And with that he beckoned to Palko to put down the doc.u.ments.

The latter venomously banged down the whole bundle on the table, but he could not refrain from observing, "What a shame to spoil such a lot of nice clean paper by scribbling on it!"

"You speak like a fool," growled Master Jock.

"It would be all the same, so far as your honour is concerned, if they put blank paper before your honour; for they don't pay the slightest attention to what your honour says. It is not enough to know that they _do_ rob you; I should also like to know how much they rob you of."

"Come, come, my heart's best son, what do you mean by talking to your master like that? Look now! you shall look through all the accounts along with me, from beginning to end, so just stand behind my chair, and hold your tongue."

"I am ready to eat up all that your honour looks through," murmured the old servant to himself.

Thereupon Master Jock, with commendable determination, extended his hand towards the top-most bundle lying before him, which contained the accounts of his agent Janos Karlats, and began fumbling about with it till he arrived at the conviction that he could make neither head nor tail of it, whereupon he handed it back to Mr. Peter, who immediately found the schedule he was looking for.

"This is a schedule of the income and expenditure of your Kakadi estate."

And now, reader, let us listen. You may find it a trifle tedious, perhaps, but you could not have a better opportunity of seeing how the estates of the Nabob were administered.

"With your honour's gracious permission, I would beg to call your attention to a few notes in the margin concerning the exact position of affairs, if your honour will listen to them."

Master Jock intimated that he would undertake to do as much as that.

"To begin, then, the Kakadi estate this year yielded twelve thousand bushels of pure wheat, consequently, the richest soil scarcely produced sufficient grain to pay for the expense of cultivating it."

"It was a bad year, you know," objected Master Jock. "The corn was levelled with the ground by hailstorms in the spring, and there was so much rain afterwards that it sprouted in the stack."

"That, indeed, is what your agent said," returned Mr. Peter; "but he could have insured against hail at Pressburg, and there's such an enormously big barn on the estate, that the whole crop could have been safely housed, and then there would have been no fear of its sprouting."

"Very well, Master Peter, go on! Another time things shall be different; you may rely upon me for that."

"The twelve thousand bushels of corn were sold at nine florins the bushel to a corn-dealer of Raab, I see, thus making a total of one hundred and eight thousand florins, although I notice from the newspapers that good wheat was selling all the time at Pest at twelve florins the bushel, and the corn might easily have been transported thither, for, owing to the inundations, the oxen had no work to do."

"Yes; but those very inundations carried away the bridge, so that it was impossible to cross the Theiss."

"It was a pity, truly, that the water carried away the bridge, but if the d.y.k.e had been kept in proper repair, the water would not have got at the bridge."

"Never mind; rely upon me in the future. Go on!"

"The millet-seed, it is said, got musty from waiting too long for purchasers, so that we could only get eight thousand florins for it.

Now, that is a misstatement. I know as a fact that there was no rain just then; but the agent, in order that he might attend a christening, stacked the crop so hastily that it got black and sour from heat."