It was Stuhlweissenburg fair. In the chaffering, chattering crowd of
market folk, cattle-drivers and swine-herds jostled country land-owners
accompanied by their lackeys, and shepherds in gay cloaks, while gipsy
horse-dealers, with their ragged coats bright with silver buttons,
trotted out their prancing nags to attract possible buyers. Here and
there flitted strangely clad figures--a Wallachian boyar with his
sheepskin cap, or a Servian with his scarlet fez, and turbanned Turks,
the remnant of the expelled Mussulman population, who had come to sell
their last sheep, and then follow the rest of their folk.
The encampments begin with rows of shoemakers and furriers, then come
variegated groups of merchants from outlying provinces. Foreign wares
there are none, for the "dumping" of useless foreign commodities is
forbidden by an imperial edict. What are exposed here are all genuine
native products, whether it be in fabrics, pottery, or copper-ware,
while there is a great rush for the booths where pewter plates and
dishes are for sale.
Everything is paid for in ready money, so that if a well-to-do purchaser
buys a herd of sheep and has not the price forthcoming, he leaves his
silver knife and fork (which he carries about with him) as a pledge, and
the seller knows well enough they will be redeemed in due course.
Towards mid-day, the "market-kitchen" becomes thronged. Here too the
famous gipsy stew needs no advertising, for its savoury odour betrays
its whereabouts, and it only wants good wine to wash it down to make it
complete. But this same good wine is dear, and only for the gentry. The
Velencze people have already annexed a table near the bar, and sit round
it and listen to their favourite song:
"See I will drink with you,
So I can clink with you
A glass of good wine:
But if you do not choose,
To pledge, I'll not refuse
Alone to empty mine."
But now come the Bicske contingent, each one of whom brandishes a huge
weighted stick, or copper axe, while their neighbours have already
deposited their weapons on the table.
These late-comers observe that the others have already annexed the best
table, and proceed accordingly.
"You gentlemen from Velencze have come early," growls Bognar Laczi, the
leader of the Bicske party.
"Yes, and by this you must have caught plenty of mud-fish." (This is
intended as a graceful allusion to the Lake of Velencze.) "And what's
more, have swallowed them by this time," sneered a pugnacious looking,
thick-set fellow, who also belonged to the Bicske gang.
As is well known, the worthy dwellers by the Velencze lake do not relish
this kind of reflection on their sport, and they resented it
accordingly.
But the fight does not yet begin, for who is fool enough to fight over
the fish he eats? Besides, eating is the first and most important
business, so they sink differences in order to make a square meal.
"Now, friends," says Bognar Laczi to the Velencze contingent, "what say
you to some music? We have brought our own piper and a cornet-player
with us, so I propose that we take it in turns; first your gipsies shall
play, and then our musicians."
"All right," agreed the others, and thereupon the noble representative
from Bicske had his favourite tune played on the bagpipes.
"I've a house and a sweet little wife of my own,
And bread and bacon and crops that I've grown."
And everything progressed smoothly, for while the music was going on, no
one could talk, and if one guest called to someone else at the other
table, he did not forget to address him as "noble friend." But at the
second round of wine the company began to sing with the music, and it
was not easy to stop their efforts. Finally, the two parties insisted on
singing different songs at the same time, the result being an uproar,
wherein cymbal, fiddle, bagpipe, and cornet strove for precedence in a
very rivalry of tumultuous discord.
The Velencze leader could not stand such an annoyance, and he promptly
hurled an empty bottle at the wall just above the head of the Bicske
chief, so that the fragments fell on the latter's head. He then seized
his axe, struck the beam with it, and cried out defiantly, "Let's see
who is the better man?"
The valorous Bicske men and their ten Velencze companions, were equally
ready to join in the fray thus begun. So they seized their axes and
clubs, and began to brandish these in a highly menacing fashion. For
there is no fighter like your Magyar when his blood is up.
At this perilous juncture appeared the representatives of peace and
arbitration, in the person of Sir Stephen Keo, the "Knight of Kadarcs,"
and his companion, Mr. Postmaster Leanyfalvy, who led between them
Mathias Raby, and presented him to the company.
The old campaigner, with his shabby sheepskin over his shoulders, and a
short pipe between his teeth, pressed into the ranks of the combatants
as calmly as if the Geneva Red Cross had sheltered his breast. Not a bit
intimidated by the uproar, he brandished his pike, and cried out in a
shrill voice:
"So you are at it again, are you! Be quiet, you fellows; and so early
too, for you can't have drunk much yet. But listen to me, friends. This
gallant gentleman whom you see here is Mr. Mathias Raby of Raba and
Mura, the son of the late Stephen Raby, that noble patriot, who so
often stood up for Magyar rights. During his absence from home some
bullies in Szent-Endre have ejected this noble gentleman from his own
house, and occupied it. Now he calls upon us, the patriots of Velencze
and Bicske, to come to his aid, and will pay us a salary of two gulden
per head, to drive out the illegal occupiers from his lawful domicile.
Therefore I suggest that you adjourn your mutual quarrel till the next
Stuhlweissenburg fair (and chalk it up so that you do not forget it);
but meantime, come with us, and help to right the wrong done him."
Whereupon the twenty men present cheered loudly and signified their
readiness to go.
"We have four carriages here," said Sir Stephen. "Four must stay with
the horses, so that there will be sixteen all told for the expedition."
And so it was arranged.
But Bognar Laczi urged immediate action. "Let's be off, all of us, only
let us send on a scout who shall warn the Szent-Endre people that we are
coming in full force. They shall not say that we take them unawares, but
should get their fighting gear in readiness."
It took some time for Raby, the postmaster, and the knight to agree to
this arrangement, for they deemed such a proceeding would be pure folly.
Szent-Endre might be too strong for them, if it had time to collect all
its forces. But at last they gave in, and sent on their scout ahead,
delaying their actual start till nightfall.
By morning they had reached the "Pomazer" Inn safe and sound, so they
halted and baited the horses. The passengers sprang from the carriages,
and stretched their drowsy limbs. Then they roused the hostess and
ordered some coffee, and everyone knows what "Hungarian coffee" means;
it consists of red wine, ginger, and pepper, and is drunk boiling hot.
But this beverage kept them going all day, so invigorating was it.
While the horses fed, the messenger they had dispatched to reconnoitre,
came back with the news that all Szent-Endre was agog, the municipality
having brought together a rabble armed with sticks, pitchforks, and
flails, who had collected in front of Raby's house, while the townsmen
in the courtyard were armed and ready for the attack.
"Heigh ho," shouted the assailants. "What joy! We shall have someone now
with whom we can fight! So let's drive on so that we can be soon in
fighting array."
"Stop a bit, my noble friends," said Sir Stephen Keo. "First of all, let
us exercise a little strategy. For this will be the decisive struggle,
and remember I am in command! Before all, we must know the fortress we
are about to conquer. Now the house has two doors, the one opening on to
the Buda street, the other behind into the garden. Therefore we must
divide into two parties. The one must begin the frontal attack from the
street, the other will go round into the vineyard and take their chance
under shelter of the garden. The Velencze men will lead the one attack,
and those of Bicske the other."
The old fire-eater was not only an accomplished strategist, but likewise
a great student of character. He knew his people, and that if he placed
the two factions side by side, they would quarrel at least over
precedence if over nothing else, that neither would give in, and that
all chance of success would consequently be ruined.
"Now who will lead the attack from the street?" asked their
commander-in-chief.
It was settled by drawing lots; the garden position falling to the
Bicske party.
"So we are to go behind, are we?" questioned Bognar Laczi sulkily.
"Noble friend," pleaded the old knight, "for those who tackle a
seven-headed dragon, there is no 'behind,' for on every side there is a
head. You will attack the enemy's rear-front."
He was obliged, however, to make this concession to the Bicske
assailants, that they should travel first in two coaches to reach the
garden by a roundabout way, and yet be there at the same time as the
Velencze contingent.
These delicate points of precedence being settled, they drove off in
fine style, two of the vehicles turning towards the vineyard, and the
other three to Szent-Endre.
They could hear as they drew nearer that the whole place was in an
uproar. In the Buda Street the citizens had organized an impromptu
army. There they were in little national groups, the Magyars with
clubs, the Serbs armed with flails, the Rascians provided with
pitchforks. It looked as if it would be a hundred to one.
The space in front of Raby's house was occupied by a mixed mob of
hangers-on of all kinds, who were carrying sticks, and lances, and old
flint muskets.
In front of this phalanx stood the lieutenant in full gala dress, with
the big drum slung round his neck, ready to give the storming signal,
and inciting the mob with warlike exhortations.
But it was in reality no joke, and the antagonists, seeing the attacking
party, retreated into the house and endeavoured to close the door behind
them. Only when they felt themselves safe did they begin their defensive
operations.
The crowd without did not take an active part in the fray, but only
looked on.
The Velencze contingent tried first of all to break in the door, but it
was barricaded too fast from within. So a regular attack had to be
essayed.
The old Knight of Kadarcs directed operations from the coach where he
still sat.
"Just take the stakes out of the well-posts, and you can jam in the door
with them."
Four of the party managed to wrench out the stakes, and jammed them
against the great door like a Roman battering-ram, whilst three others
worked at the smaller door with their stout clubs. But those inside
defended themselves bravely enough, it must be owned. In the court
stood logs of wood piled up, and these they hurled at the besiegers, who
naturally returned the projectiles back from whence they came.
Within could be heard the directions of the defenders to those inside to
fire on the assailants if these effected an entrance.
But all the attacks of the Velencze men had been perfectly futile, had
not the Bicske auxiliaries come up just in the nick of time to the
rescue.
They, in fact, decided the issue of the battle. All at once they uttered
a tremendous yell which scared the enemy back into their entrenchments.
Hereupon, a frightful tumult ensued, the crowd without shouting and
seeking to find an outlet over the walls of the neighbouring houses, or
in the out-houses and stables. Then the Velencze party made a tremendous
dash for the barred door, and succeeded in effecting an entrance. What
followed is indeed difficult to describe.
"Take care to hit them on the head," shouted the old commander-in-chief
from his perch in the coach, while the mob laughed loud and long, as one
after another member of the town council crawled out on all fours over
the neighbouring roofs into safety, whilst first one and then another of
the Szent-Endre worthies were thrown out like cats on to the ground
below. The last to be turned out was the notary, his clothes torn, his
temples bleeding, and his teeth knocked out, yet there was not a soul
who seemed to sympathise with him.
The mayor had bethought him of a refuge in the chimney, but they lighted
straw below, and he was forced to push his way out. But the chimney
being too narrow, he only succeeded in getting his head and arms out,
and there he stuck, gesticulating wildly like a jack-in-the-box, till
the siege being over, they could take off the chimney-pot and so free
the prisoner.
When the coast was clear they opened the doors and re-installed Mathias
Raby in his own house again.
"Now, noble sir, what did you think of the operations?" asked the Knight
of Kadarcs, as he cleaned out his pipe for a smoke.
"A nice piece of work; it's a pity that sort of fighting has gone out of
fashion!"
But the worthy burghers had learned a twofold lesson. First, that when a
plebeian fights it out with a noble, it is the plebeian who gets the
worst of it; and secondly, that the people themselves, if they see their
superiors thrashed, not only turn their backs on them, but regard it as
a good joke.
But after drinking to his health, the rescuers took leave of their host,
now settled again in his own home.
"We shall be at your service whenever you want us," was their parting
salutation.