A Hungarian Nabob | Page 4

had jangling bells around his neck, to warn all
whom they might encounter to get out of the way. On the box sat an old
coachman in an embroidered bekes, or fur-pelisse, whose sole
instructions were that wherever he might go, he was not to dare to look
into the carriage behind him under pain of being instantly shot through
the head. We, however, who are in no fear of having our heads blown
off, may just as well take a peep inside.
Beneath the hood of the carriage sat an aged man wrapped up to the
throat in a wolfskin bunda, and with a large astrachan cap on his head
drawn down over his eyes. Inside it one could make out nothing but the
face. It was a peculiar face, with eyes that looked strangely at you. An
errant spirit seemed to dwell in them; they spoke of a mind that had
been destined for great, for amazing things. But fate, environment, and
neglect had here been too much for destiny, and the man had grown
content to be extraordinary in mere trifles, and seemed quite surprised
at the wonderful expression of his own eyes. The whole face was fat
but colourless, the features were noble but puckered up in bizarre
wrinkles. This, with the heavy eyebrows and the neglected moustache,
caused repulsion at the first glance; but if the man looked at you long
enough, you gradually got reconciled to all his features. Especially
when he shut his eyes and sleep had smoothed out all the lines and
creases of his face, he wore such a patriarchal expression that one

involuntarily thought of one's own father. But what made him look still
more remarkable was the peculiar circumstance, that crouching up
close beside him sat two peasant girls; two chubby little wenches, from
the seriousness, not to say anxiety, of whose faces it was possible to
conclude that no mere idle freak had lodged them there by the side of
the old gentleman. The cold wet night froze the blood in the veins of
the aged man, his wolfskin bunda could not keep him warm enough,
and, therefore, they placed close beside him two young peasant girls
that his dilapidated organism might borrow warmth from their
life-giving magnetism.
All night long he had been unable to get any rest, any pastime in his
distant castle, so at last he had hit upon the idea of knocking up the
landlord of the "Break-'em-tear-'em" csárda, and picking a quarrel with
him at any price. The insult would be all the more venomous if he
woke him in the middle of the night, and demanded something to eat
and drink immediately. If the fellow cursed and swore, as he was pretty
sure to do, he should have a good hiding from the heydukes. As the
innkeeper was himself a gentleman, the whole joke would possibly cost
about a couple of thousand of florins or so, but the fun was quite worth
that.
So he called up his serving-men, and made them harness horses and
light torches, and set off through the pathless darkness with twelve
heydukes, taking with him everything necessary for eating and drinking,
in order to have a banquet in honour of the jest as soon as it was
accomplished, not forgetting to carry along with him the three
personages who chiefly ministered to his amusement, and whom he
sent on before him in a separate waggon, to wit, his favourite
greyhound, his gipsy jester, and his parasitical poet, all three of whom
made a nice little group together.
Now, worthy Mr. Peter Bús was famous far and wide for his peculiar
sensitiveness to insult; the merest trifle was sufficient to lash him into a
fury. A heyduke, therefore, was sent on in advance, who rattled at his
windows like a savage, and bellowed at the top of his voice--
"Get up there, you innkeeper fellow! Get up, get up! You are required

to wait upon your betters, and look sharp about it!"
At these words Peter Bús bounded to his feet as if he had been shot
from a gun, snatched up his fokos, looked out of the window, and
perceiving the brilliant array of serving-men, who lit up the whole
house with their torches, instantly guessed with whom he had to do. He
now grasped the fact that they wanted to make him fly into a rage for
their especial amusement, and resolved for that very reason not to fly
into a rage at all. So he hung his fokos up nicely on its nail again, thrust
his head into his sheepskin cap, threw his bunda over his shoulders, and
stepped out.
All the newly arrived guests were already inside the courtyard. In the
centre, surrounded by his bodyguard,