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A Hungarian Nabob Part 24

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CHAPTER VIII.

AN UNEXPECTED CHANGE.

A month later John Karpathy was to be met with once more at Pressburg.

It made him angry now when people called him "Master Jock."

A great change had come over the Nabob both externally and internally.

His frame had grown so meagre of late that he was unable to wear his former clothes; the fiery flush had disappeared from his face, the drunken puffiness from around his eyes; he spoke gravely with his fellow-men, busied himself about political and national matters, looked into the affairs of his own estates, sought out trustworthy stewards and bailiffs, renounced riotous pastimes, spoke sensibly and intelligibly at the Diet; n.o.body could imagine what had come to him all at once.

He had one favourite, Mike Kis, who was to be seen with him in every public place. Very often they encountered Abellino, and on all such occasions the Nabob and the Whitsun King would look at each other and smile and whisper as if they were planning some design against Abellino, as if they held in their hands some humorous trump card which would turn the tables gloriously upon the waggish coffin-sender. For all the young _roues_ were still greatly amused at Abellino's masterpiece. The old bucks, on the other hand, had rather more difficulty in grasping the humour of it.

Meanwhile Master Boltay was residing on a little estate he had somewhere among the hills, whither in his first alarm he had conveyed f.a.n.n.y, and she had hidden away there along with her aunt. Within a week, however, Abellino, who had by no means abandoned the chase, had discovered where they had stowed away the girl, and a few days later Teresa caught one of the servants in the act of popping a suspicious looking letter into f.a.n.n.y's reading book. Master Boltay discharged that servant on the spot.

Nevertheless, there were fresh rumours and alarms every day. Fas.h.i.+onable gentlemen came a-hunting in the neighbourhood of the village near their dwelling, and hit upon a thousand artifices for obtaining admittance.

Sometimes disguised lackeys presented themselves in the garb of simple gardeners, but, fortunately, Teresa always recognized their crafty countenances, and let them cool their heels on the doorstep. At other times old gipsy women sneaked into the courtyard whenever they had the chance, and by way of diverting the innocent damsel, showed her in the cards that a terribly great gentleman was in love with her, and would have her, too.

Master Boltay, hearing these things from day to day, became as furious as a bull when the dog-star is in the ascendant. He fumed and fussed and swore he would do dreadful things to any one he might catch on the premises. But, alas! he could catch n.o.body! The enemy was an airy, agile, artful, experienced creature who was never at the end of his inventions, and had nothing else to think of but how to make a fool of him; while he, with his dull henchman Alexander, was but a stupid, heavy animal, whose horns had to grow before he could b.u.t.t with them. It was therefore with a very surly look that Master Boltay, standing outside his door one day, beheld a handsome carriage stop in front of his house, and a heyduke a.s.sist an elderly Hungarian gentleman to descend therefrom.

The old gentleman approached Master Boltay with a very amicable air, and, bidding the heyduke remain behind, said to the artisan--

"Sir, is this the house of Mr. Boltay?"

The person accosted was so preoccupied that the only answer he gave was to nod his head.

"Then I suppose I have the pleasure of speaking to the worthy master himself?"

Even now Master Boltay was not quite master of his own thoughts, and he could not get it out of his mind that this gentleman had come to pick a quarrel with him.

"Yes, I am; I don't deny it," he replied.

The elderly gentleman smiled, hooked his arm within Master Boltay's, and, in the heartiest manner, invited him to go with him into the house as they must have a long conversation together.

Master Boltay gave way, led the gentleman into the innermost apartment, made him sit down, and remained standing before him to hear what he had to say.

"First of all," said the old gentleman, regarding the master-carpenter with a comical smile--"first of all, allow me to introduce myself. I will begin by saying that I bear a name which will not be exactly music to your ear. I am John Karpathy. Yes! out with the oath that hangs on your lips as loudly and soundly as you like! I know very well that it is not meant for me, but for my nephew, whose name is Bela, but who, fool as he is, has re-christened himself Abellino. You have good cause to curse him, for he has brought misfortune to your house."

"Not yet, sir," said Boltay, "and I hope to G.o.d he will not bring it."

"I hope so too; but, alas! the devil never slumbers, especially when pretty girls are about. My nephew has taken upon himself the glorious resolution of seducing your ward."

"I know it, sir; but I am on my guard."

"My good sir, you know not half the artful tricks of the young bucks who have served an apprentices.h.i.+p in the great world before engaging in such enterprises."

"Stop, sir! One thing I do know. I know that, all because of your nephew, she is condemned to a cloister-like life, and cannot so much as step into the street unless I am with her. And when, at last, I have had too much of this persecution, I will leave my workshop, I will go into another part of the world, I will quit my country, which I love as well as, ay, and ever so much better than, many of those who call themselves the fathers of the fatherland. But till then, sir, till then, never let me catch hold of any of these painted b.u.t.terflies! I am not a gentleman, I will fight no duel; but I'll smash whomsoever comes in my way--I'll smash 'em like a piece of rotten gla.s.s. Just tell that to your dear nephew!"

"Pardon me, my friend, but I am not in the habit of carrying messages to my nephew, neither have I come hither merely to gossip, but to carry out a well-devised thoroughly thought-out plan. I hate this man more than you do. You need not shake your head like that, for so it is. Abellino is my mortal foe, and I am his. You will better understand the amicable relations between us when I tell you that he wishes me to die, and I will not consent, and as in all probability my road to death is much shorter than his, the contest is conducted with very unequal weapons. On my birthday he sent me a coffin as a present, in the expectation that I should make use of it as speedily as possible. Now _his_ birthday is approaching, and I am going to send him, as a present, a beggar's staff, and I hope he will live a long time to use it."

"Well, sir, that is your business, not mine. I am a table-maker; I don't profess to make staves. If you wish to make a present of a beggar's staff, I can recommend you to a turner who lives hard by."

"Master Boltay, don't be so impatient. The staff I spoke of is only an emblem. I have a plan, I say, which you must know of. It would be better if you came and sat down by me and heard me out. Look now! I want Abellino to wait in vain for the hour of my death. I want my estates not to go to him, but to another. Do you understand?"

"Of course! You would cut him off with a s.h.i.+lling."

"Why, man, you understand nothing. My estates are hereditary; I cannot leave them to whom I will--that depends on the law of succession, and the law of succession is eternal. And a nice little inheritance it is too. It deserves to be talked about, I a.s.sure you. My annual income exceeds a million and a half!"

"A million and a half!" cried the artisan, in consternation; and he gazed wonderingly at the magnate, as if he scarce believed that any man in the world could be worth a million and a half a year.

"Yes, a million and a half awaits my successor, and even under the sod I should be tortured by the thought that my ancestral estates, for which far better men than I shed their blood, were being scattered to the winds by a worthless descendant, were dribbling away piecemeal and pa.s.sing into the hands of usurers, shopkeepers, and aliens, and all through the very man who, so far from weeping at my death, will be ready to dance for joy at it. I mean to deprive him of that satisfaction."

"May I give you a piece of advice, sir?"

"There's no need of that. You've only got to listen to me." Then, seizing the hand of the artisan, to rivet his attention the better, he thus proceeded: "There is one way of drawing a blood-red cross through all Abellino's calculations--for I want to draw blood, I want to wound him to the very heart, because he has insulted me--and that one way is for me to marry."

Here Karpathy stopped, and threw himself back in his chair, as if waiting to see what the artisan would say to that. But he only nodded his head, as if he understood the matter completely.

"If a child were to be born to me," continued Karpathy, and, in a sudden outburst of merriment, he banged the table with his fist, "why, it would be enough to make me live my life over again. I am not superst.i.tious, sir; but when I was lying on my death-bed, a heavenly vision gave me the a.s.surance that, to the wonder of my fellows, I should return from the realm of death, though everybody looked upon me as a dead man already; and the mere fact of my recovering my strength and good humour is proof enough to me that that vision was no false dream. I mean to marry. And now you shall hear how that concerns you. You have a young ward--a girl whom Abellino persecutes, and Abellino's a.s.sociates lay bets with each other as to who shall win her first, as if it were a horse-race. Now, I want to put a stop to this base persecution. I would provide her with a place of refuge so secure, that if all its doors and windows stood right open before him, Abellino would not venture in. That place of refuge is my house!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that I demand from you your ward as my wife!"

"What?"

"My lawful consort, I say. For many years the world has known me under the t.i.tle of 'the good old fool.' I would employ the remainder of my days in excising the word 'fool' from that t.i.tle."

Master Boltay slowly arose from beside the table.

"Sir, your honour's offer flatters and amazes me. You are a gentleman, with an annual income of a million and a half; you are incalculably wealthy, like the rich man in the Bible. But I know, sir, that wealth is not happiness. I knew a poor girl whose parents last year gave her in marriage to a rich man, and the next day they drew a suicide out of the Danube. I want to make my ward happy, but I will not give her away for riches or treasures."

Karpathy remained sitting, and gently grasped the artisan's hand.

"Sit down again, my worthy Master Boltay. When first I saw your face, I was prepared for that answer. You certainly would provide a happy, contented future for your ward, and your intention does you honour. You would leave to her a possession that is not to be despised--a safe business, and, perchance, you have also chosen for her a worthy, honest, hard-working, sensible young man, on whose arm she can wander along life's quiet path to the very end. But her destiny is no longer in your power. The girl, unfortunately, springs from a family in whose blood flightiness may be said to have run from the very beginning. She was educated in a school which encouraged ambition, extravagance, and the love of luxury, and the later and more rigorous years of her life have only suppressed, not extinguished, her earlier impressions and recollections. She was wont to see vice feted and sobriety ridiculed.

That, sir, is a bad apprentices.h.i.+p, and it requires no ordinary strength of mind to call that which seems so sweet, bitter, and that which seems so bitter, sweet. Have not you yourself observed how suddenly she cooled towards the poor young fellow you chose for her, when she got the idea into her head that she was going to become a beauty whom the world would envy and adore? Before very much longer she will have her times of _ennui_, of pa.s.sionate desire; the claims of nature will a.s.sert themselves. Then will come moments of bitterness and self-forgetfulness, when she will readily listen to evil counsellors. And who shall save a damsel from falling who herself wishes to fall?"

"I don't believe it, sir. I don't believe what you say. I feel you have spoken the truth, and still I deny it. In general, what you say is right enough; but my darling will be the exception."

"I will not dispute the point. Look now! I don't want to marry your ward against her will. I simply want you to lay my proposal before her: 'A rich n.o.bleman sues for your hand. The suitor is neither young nor handsome, nor even amiable--he might very well pa.s.s for your grandpapa; yet the only demands he makes upon you are that you will swear to be his wife, and will honour him as your husband. If you like, he and you shall live in two separate counties, and you shall only see him when you choose to invite him to come and see you. Will you accept his offer?' If the girl says, 'No,' I will be quite content with her answer. We will say no more about the matter, and I will trouble you no further. You will but have done your duty as a guardian. I will give her a week to make up her mind. In a week's time, my confidential agent, who is cooling his heels outside by my carriage, will be sent here--I don't want to carry my basket home myself[10]--to inquire if by any chance I left a diamond ring behind me here. If the answer be a rejection, you will send back this ring by him; if, on the other hand, my proposal be accepted, you will answer that I must come for it myself."

[Footnote 10: In Hungarian, as in German, a rejected lover is said to "receive a basket."]

And with that the gentleman arose, pressed Master Boltay's hand amicably, and left him in a perfect chaos of conflicting thoughts.

Impatiently, Boltay began pacing up and down the room. What was he to do? He felt within himself that Karpathy had spoken the truth. The girl would not be able to resist the tempting prospect, and would accept the offer. And thus she must needs be unhappy; and what would be the end of it all? At first he had half a mind to conceal the whole thing from her.

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A Hungarian Nabob Part 24 summary

You're reading A Hungarian Nabob. This manga has been translated by Updating. Author(s): Mor Jokai. Already has 650 views.

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