It was horribly hot and depressing at the "White Wolf" at Pesth, where
Raby had elected to stay. The atmosphere was mephitic and close, and in
the dusty inn parlour the flies swarmed uncomfortably, while outside it
was horribly dusty, as it is even to-day.
No wonder Raby was glad to get out of it, and elected to take a stroll
in the direction of the wood outside the city, his head full of many
conflicting thoughts.
Certainly, his plans for bettering the people were prospering. The
Emperor had recalled the easy-going district commissioner in consequence
of Raby's representations, and had appointed to the post an able and
strenuous, yet cold and reserved man, a wealthy landlord, who undertook
the office on account of the honour it conferred on its holder. Perhaps
what best qualified him for the post was, that he was not on intimate
terms with anyone in the neighbourhood.
His first care was, in view of Mathias Raby's complaints, to suspend the
magistrate of Szent-Endre and his satellites, and to order a fresh
election of such representatives in that town, which meant a complete
clearing out of the old gang. Then the deposed notary would be either
compelled to show the new officials the bricked-up passage to the
treasure chamber, or, if he refused, the "pope" would reveal the secret
of the other entrance; this promise Raby had succeeded in extorting from
the new authorities.
Once the treasure-chest was unearthed, the oppressed townspeople, whose
money had been wrung from them to fill that coffer, could be compensated
for their wrongs. What rejoicing would there not be when the poor
starving husbandman could receive back the four or five hundred gulden
unjustly extorted from him, and one could tell him that though it had
been reft from him unjustly, now his wrongs were redressed. What a
splendid mission for him who undertook it!
Raby's soul revelled in the very thought of it: no sordid considerations
of selfish interest poisoned his joy, for he had renounced all personal
reward and only taken the work upon himself on the condition that he had
no share in the treasure when it was discovered. Legally, indeed, he was
entitled to such a share, but how much greater claim had he to be heard
if he was empty-handed in this affair!
And if he rejoiced at the fulfilment of his aims, he, it must also be
admitted, felt a distinct satisfaction in the thought of revenge. The
great coffer held not only the secret treasure, but also the private
accounts which would make it clear which of the powerful officials were
concerned in the affair. The whole shameful story must then be brought
to light, and all, who up till now had pursued him with their malice and
mocked him to his face, must then stand as prisoners at the bar, however
high they had held their heads.
Obsessed by these and the like reflections, our hero came to the edge of
the wood and there found stretched out before him the great waste plot
of land bordered with willows, which some hours before he had pointed
out from the window of the palace to his Excellency. The surveyors were
already working on it, taking measurements, and staking out the ground
where the first foundations for the new building should be laid.
All at once Raby's reverie was disturbed by someone addressing him. He
had not observed how the man who spoke to him had come up, but then he
had of course as much right as Raby to walk there. The stranger appeared
to be a worthy Pesth citizen; he wore the Magyar dress and had the
consequential air of a man who cannot learn anything from other people,
however wise they be. His short curling moustachios lent his face a
genuine Magyar expression, but of Hungarian he apparently understood not
a word, but expressed himself in bad German. Raby answered the "Guntag"
of the stranger politely.
"Does the gentleman happen to know what the surveyors are planning
here?" asked the new-comer.
Raby was naturally ready to satisfy worthy curiosity.
"That," he answered, "is a great hospital the Emperor is erecting. A
building we much need," he added.
And they talked of various other things, in the course of which it came
out that the new-comer was a pork-dealer in Pesth, whereupon Raby opined
that he had the honour of speaking to a member of the famous "Guild of
pork merchants." But this new friend talked of many things beside his
own trade.
They had now come to the winding path which led along the side of the
wood, but the stranger's fund of conversation continued to be apparently
inexhaustible. He mentioned, among other things, that he preferred this
walk because the road was not yet made. Since it had been the fashion to
have the roads in the city paved, he said, he no longer cared to walk in
the streets. The whole paving scheme had been a hobby of the present
burgomaster, who, as everyone knew, had been a German shoemaker, and had
only introduced paving-stones so as to give the German shoemakers
preference over the Hungarian bootmakers, for since they had had
pavements to walk on, people naturally wore fewer boots, for you only
need shoes for the paving stones.
It was not long before the two reached the little inn, which stood there
even then for the refreshment of travellers.
"What do you say to turning in for a glass of beer?" asked his
companion, "you get a capital brand here."
Raby answered that he did not drink beer, whereupon the pork-dealer
pressed him to touch glasses with him, and promptly drew out his purse
as a proof of his readiness to pay the reckoning. But Raby insisted that
he only drank water.
"Well, if that is the case," returned his fellow-wayfarer, "you cannot
do better than have a glass; the water here is of unusual excellence.
Just wait here, and I will go in and get some beer for myself, and send
you out a glass of water. It comes from the famous Elias spring; there
is no such water in the world."
Raby gladly assented; tired and thirsty as he was with his walk, he
longed for just such a refreshing draught.
So into the inn the good man hurried, but he soon reappeared, followed
by a neat little waitress bearing a wooden tray with a large pewter mug
of water on it. The girl looked at him while he drank, with her innocent
blue eyes, so that Raby hardly noticed, as he returned her scrutiny,
that the water left a curiously bitter after-taste in his mouth. When he
set the mug down, he observed that there was a white sediment at the
bottom of it.
Rather scared in spite of himself, he asked the girl if there was
anything in the water.
"I don't know," she answered, "if so, the gentleman who has just gone,
put it in."
"Has he gone?"
"Yes, he went out by the back door. He did not even wait to take the
change which I brought him."
The man was no pork-dealer, but a hired assassin. Raby had been
poisoned, that was clear. The trees already had begun to dance before
his eyes, the blue sky became blood-red, and his feet refused to carry
him, while his head was so heavy, it felt as if it would burst. He had
not even the strength to stagger as far as a sedan-chair, but bade the
inn people carry him back to the "White Wolf," which they promptly did
in terror.
* * * * *
Had not poor Boske been there, Mathias Raby's history would have come to
an untimely end with that glass of water.
The servant-girl was the only one who had the presence of mind to give
the patient some warm milk, and then tickled his throat with a feather,
so as to induce violent vomiting, while she applied hot fomentations.
But in spite of her care it was needful to send for a doctor. Yet it was
not so easy to find one, for physicians in those days were few and far
between, and there were, as a matter of fact, but two in the whole city,
the municipal doctor and the town leech, and neither would come when
sent for. The municipal practitioner maintained that the law did not
allow of him seeing patients out of their own houses. The town
physician again found his excuse in the plea that he could not interfere
in cases which had already been referred to his municipal colleague.
So there was no one to look after Raby, since neither doctors would come
to him, even though his life was in danger. Thus for fully
four-and-twenty hours the poisoned man had no other assistance than that
rendered by a poor servant-maid. For only on the evening of the
following day, when it was getting dark, did a surgeon from Pilis
appear, who, it had fortunately occurred to Raby, was likely to answer
the summons.
He set about curing his patient immediately, but he bound Raby on his
honour not to say a word as to who was treating him, otherwise it would
be ruinous to his professional career in the town. It was only through
the urgent prayers and tears, he said, of a good woman, that he had come
to do what he could for the sick man.
As a matter of fact, the kind-hearted surgeon had to leave the city in
consequence of having succoured Raby in this way. But it was ten weeks
before the patient fully recovered.