A Hungarian Nabob | Page 5

was his lordship, in a large attila
with gold buttons, reaching down to his knee; the circumference of his
body constrained him to hold his head a little thrown back, and he
supported himself with a gold-headed Spanish cane. It was now quite
evident how ill that scornful, mocking expression of his became his
face, and wholly distorted its naturally jovial character.
"Come nearer, sirrah!" he called to the innkeeper in a loud imperious
voice. "Throw open your apartments, and make ready for our
entertainment. Give us wine, tokay, and ménes; give us also pheasants,
artichokes, and crab salad."
The innkeeper humbly took off his hat, held it in his hand, and replied
with the utmost calmness and sangfroid--
"God hath brought your lordship to us; I will serve you with everything
you command. I would only beg of you to pardon me for not
possessing either tokay or ménes. My pheasants, too, have not yet been
fattened up; and as for my crabs, they have all been drowned in this
great deluge, as you may see for yourself. And I suppose your lordship
will not give me for my kitchen the two crabs I see here?"
This last sally was directed at the scarlet uniforms of the heydukes, and
diverted his lordship's attention. He was pleased to find the innkeeper
rising to the level of the joke. He had not expected it, and was all the

more amused.
Meanwhile, the gipsy jester had poked out his black phiz, which vied
with that of any nigger, and, flashing a row of white teeth at the
innkeeper, began to tot up on his fingers what he wanted.
"All I want," said he, "is a dish of bird of paradise eggs, served with the
fat of a sucking deer, and a brawn of pickled salmon spawn. I never eat
anything else."
"Then I am sorry for that lordly belly of thine. A little gipsy-ragout is at
your service, however," replied Peter Bús.
"I beg your pardon," cried the gipsy, "but that is my kinsman, and you
are not allowed to roast him."
His lordship fell a-laughing at this insipid jest. Such witticisms formed
no small part of his amusement, and because the innkeeper had
humoured him, his intentions towards him had completely changed.
"Then what can you give your guests?" he resumed.
"Everything, my lord. Only, unfortunately, what is mine is all gone,
what will be mine is far off, and what should be mine is nowhere."
His lordship was so pleased with this circumlocution of "nothing" that
he burst out laughing, and, wishing to immortalize it, exclaimed--
"Where is Gyárfás? Where is that poet fellow skulking now?" And yet
the worthy fellow was standing close beside him with his hands folded
behind his back, and with his pale, withered, parchment-like face
peevishly regarding the whole entertainment. "Look alive, Gyárfás!
Quick! Make a verse upon this inn, where people can get nothing to
eat!"
Mr. Gyárfás cast down his eyelashes, drew his mouth up to his nose,
and, tapping his brow with the tip of his finger, delivered himself of
this extemporized verse--

"If thou bring not to eat with thee hither, All empty the plates stand
before thee. The fast of this house is eternal; The Turk will not visit this
shanty."
"What's the man talking about! What has the Turk to do with this
csárda?"
"He has a great deal to do with it," responded Gyárfás, placidly,
"inasmuch as the Turk needs to eat, though he does not always get the
chance, and therefore would not be likely to come here where he would
find nothing, so the verse is perfect."
The Nabob now suddenly turned towards the landlord.
"Have you a mouse on the premises then?"
"They are not mine, my lord. I only rent the house. But as there are
plenty of them, I don't suppose the ground landlord will begin an action
at law if I take one or two."
"Then roast us a mouse!"
"Only one?"
"Plague on such a question! Dost thou take the belly of a man for the
abyss of hell, to think that one such beast is not quite enough for it?"
"At your service, my lord," said the innkeeper; and he immediately
called the cats into the room to assist him, though he had only to move
a few stones away in order to be able to pick and choose his mouse
quite as well as any cat could have done it for him.
And here I may say, by the way, that a mouse is such a nice pretty little
animal, that I cannot conceive why folks should hold it in such horror.
It is very much the same thing as a squirrel or a guinea-pig, which we
keep in our rooms