Nature had endowed Vendel Hornyicsek, the brewer of B----, in the
county of Raab, with five hundred and seventy nine pounds of standard
weight; and he was not the man to turn tail before a stuffed lamb and
any given quantity of beer.
His head was a complete circle, a worthy rival for any pumpkin
produced on the sunniest plain; and Mount Ararat itself might have
blushed in the vicinity of his nose. He had only one eye, which you
might have suspected he had borrowed _ad usum_ from some misanthropic
mole--it was small, green, and peculiarly adapted to sleep; but mother
Nature was not unjust, and what she curtailed in one feature she amply
refunded in another, by bestowing more than ordinary proportions on
the mouth, into which capacious aperture the four-quart tankard would
certainly have disappeared altogether had it not been held fast by its
two handles. Except, however, to receive the contents of the tankard,
the good man seldom made use of this feature. It is true that he could
speak nothing but the German and Bohemian languages, in which he had
been born and bred; for though he had lived thirty years in the county
of Raab, he had never been able to make himself understood in the
Hungarian language, and certainly he found no living creature, unless
it were those travelled gentlemen, the storks, to address him in his
native tongue. Moreover, Vendel Hornyicsek gazda[61] was not a lover
of great commotion; he was by no means ambitious. He would sit quietly
in the chimney-corner from morning till night, replenishing his
interior with ample potions of the genuine barley-bree, and turning in
his mind some philosophy peculiarly his own. He never dined at regular
hours, or rather he dined at every hour of the day; it was a
continual, unwearied struggle with his appetite--that invincible
Antæus, who, as often as he was overcome, rose with redoubled strength
to renew the attack; and these struggles did not cease with the day,
like the labour of ordinary mortals, but he was accustomed to wake at
night and strive to satisfy the cravings of the voracious monster. A
pitcher of unusual dimensions was regularly placed by his bedside,
just within comfortable reach of his hand; for it was his firm belief
that whoever goes hungry to bed dreams of being devoured by Pharaoh's
lean kine; it was probable, however, that he would have despatched the
whole seven had they come to an actual encounter.
[Footnote 61: The common name for host or master.]
In the village of B---- they still exhibit as a relic his flannel
stockings, each of which would have contained at least a Presburg peck
of anything you liked to put into it; while a wandering Sclavonian
family might have harboured snugly in his sleeve.
There was not a vestige of a beard on the broad expanse of face, which
was naked as the moon, and blooming as the Pacha's rose. The corners
of his mouth extended upwards, as if they were amusing themselves at
the expense of the eye placed over them, and there was not the
slightest rumour of anything like brow or lash to crown the eyelid. As
an indemnity, however, for such destitution, the chin was doubled and
trebled; indeed, it would have been difficult to decide where it began
and how it ended; and a few orphan hairs endeavoured to keep their
ground on the vast and sterile heath above his ears.
Our worthy host had already disposed of three ribs, or in other words,
he had followed to the grave three wives, each of whom had weighed
above two hundredweight. But what did he derive, after all, from so
many weddings and funerals? To be left alone at last, for the house to
go to wreck and ruin, for the beer to get sour, the bread to be half
baked, and the meat half cooked, while the hawks carried off his
poultry, and the rats his cheese; in short, his whole establishment
went to auction, like the Csakys'[62] straw, till finally in the
height of his distress, Vendel resolved--what else could he do?--he
resolved to look out for another wife, and actually set about carrying
his project into execution. In former times he had been used to
contemplate and weigh duly every consideration connected with this
most important step, together with the merits requisite in the object
of his choice. She must be plain, that he might have no cause for
jealousy; of small speech, but ample dowry; and her knowledge and
accomplishments must consist chiefly in the noble art of pampuska[63]
cookery, with which, namely, the pampuskas, our worthy host's most
sublime ideas of mortal happiness were connected. Hitherto he had
succeeded to the utmost of his wishes, and three wives adorned with
all the requisite virtues had rendered the pampuska morsel sweet to
his lips. Moreover, he had lived in uninterrupted peace and
tranquillity, without having ever had the slightest cause for
uneasiness; on the contrary, the first impulse of every one who looked
at either of the three worthy dames had been to turn and run as long
as there was a road before him.
[Footnote 62: This family is said to have had once such abundant crops
that, in order to get rid of it, they were obliged to let all who
would carry it off.]
[Footnote 63: A sort of fritter--a Bohemian dish.]
But let no man call himself happy before his death--he may do so
afterwards if he has a mind; as the wise Racien said a fortnight after
the inundation. Vendel Hornyicsek having for the fourth time resolved
to put on the orban cap, so outwitted his good sense in his advanced
age, as to take to himself a mate who was both young and pretty, and
whose name was Vicza.
The first had been Nani, the second Lotti, the third Zsuzsi, all good,
quiet, pious names. Hey! Vendel, Vendel, why should you have stumbled
upon a Vicza! and such a Vicza too, whose eyes might have allured the
sun from the skies, and each one of whose saucy motions might have
charmed the very curd[64] into life; a Vicza who, instead of pampuska
cakes, baked such witch pogacsok,[65] that he must have been a very
Saturn who ventured to partake of them; and it must be observed, that
although every muscle of this fair Vicza was replete with vivacity and
motion, yet the most flexible part of her whole person was that small
member designated by anatomists the tongue; indeed, it required no
whalebone palate like that of the monster of the deep to emit such
effusions as would clear the whole atmosphere.
[Footnote 64: In Hungarian, the expression is more _naïve_--_sleeping
milk_ being the literal translation.]
[Footnote 65: Bannocks.]
Scarcely had Mistress Vicza placed her foot in her husband's house
when it became an overturned world. Her appearance had much the same
effect as pouring vitriol into water, or putting a leech among the
foals. Every servant was obliged to be on his feet at cockcrowing, and
wo to that cheek on whose sleep the sun shone, for Mistress Vicza's
palm was sure to celebrate it; moreover, she was in the kitchen,
storeroom, barn, fold, stall, in short, everywhere at once, to see
that all was going on in order, and that the folks were not sleeping
or stealing. She saw everything, knew everything, and had a word for
everybody, persecuted and pursued from morning till night whatever was
capable of motion, followed up every command to the very letter, and
was unfailing in her promises, which were invariably threats.
These new arrangements by no means pleased the good Vendel. He could
never sleep beyond daybreak, for all the windows and doors were then
thrown open to let the morning air pass through the rooms; he had
nobody to sit and discourse with to make the time pass, for nobody had
a moment to sit down--the whole household seemed to be on galvanic
springs from sunrise till sunset. He was kept, besides, to regular
meals, and they only dished three times a day for him--for him who had
been accustomed to eat every hour of the twenty-four; and, oh
unparalleled barbarity! he was obliged to forego altogether his
nightly repasts.
If the unhappy man complained of having nothing to do, a basket of
beans in their husks was placed before him to be peeled, or some other
such employment which he would set to work at with a heavy sigh,
thinking mournfully the while of his three dead partners, and the
happy days which had fled never to return.
But Vendel was a philosopher, and he knew that it was best to submit
with a good grace, for how should he set himself in opposition to the
rising hurricane, or look the lightning in the face? Who indeed would
not have drawn in his head between his shoulders when the capped
Bellona turned with outstretched arm to pour forth the vial of her
wrath in hailstones and coals of fire, lightning flashing from her
eyes and thunder pealing from her mouth? Vendel was not the man to
cope with such elements of war; he would have borne even more for the
sake of a quiet life.
Our worthy host kept a large beer-tavern in the village of B----,
which had been hitherto the resort of all the cuirassiers and dragoons
in the neighbourhood, who beguiled every leisure hour in the enjoyment
of the national beverage, while their kind host showed them a
never-failing good example.
A tall stripling of a Moravian youth, meagre as a sign-post, was the
beerhouse Ganymede. One might have thought his master had chosen him
purposely to form a contrast to himself. His mouth was always wide
open, and his eyes, which seemed trying to find their way out of his
head, stared vacantly before him: if he looked at anything at all, it
was apparently with the point of his nose.
From two arms of immeasurable length dangled a huge pair of uncouth
red hands, which looked as though they were not really his own, but
merely borrowed for the day's work, and his awkward legs he seemed
rather to drag after him than to be indebted to their assistance for
the act of propulsion.
To complete the singularity of his appearance, this youth was in the
habit of wearing a coat with long and pointed tails, the sleeves of
which scarcely reached below the elbows, while the ends of the tails
dangled against his ankles; his waistcoat had doubtless boasted of
some very brilliant colouring in days long past, though it would have
been difficult to distinguish the shades at present, and most of the
gilt buttons had only left their ears as a remembrance. Wide
csikos[66] drawers adorned his legs as far as the ankles, beneath
which his bare feet, were thrust into a pair of heelless slippers; a
high cravat stood up around his neck like a halter, in which no less
than three glittering pins of Bohemian stones constituted the especial
glory of his toilet.
[Footnote 66: The csikos, who keep the horses on the plains, are noted
for their wide drawers.]
It was late in the evening. The dogs were barking about the streets,
and the peacocks crying in the neighbouring farm-yard; otherwise the
village was very quiet, the good folks having for the most part
retired to rest with the sparrows.
Master Hans, or Hanzli, as he was commonly denominated--we have evaded
the question as long as possible, but finally we must acknowledge that
the youth's name was Hanzli; it was no fault of his, poor fellow! his
god-parents were alone to blame; and doubtless, had he been capable of
speech when they so basely betrayed his helpless innocence, he would
have protested against it--Hanzli thrust his nose and his arm out of
the window, then drew both back, and the window was closed.
The village had been deserted for some weeks by the German soldiery;
and from that day forward the beer-room had become pitifully empty,
for it was only now and then that some desperately thirsty wretch
dropped in by chance, and ventured to slake his thirst with a glass of
the barm-smelling wine.
A dim light flickered on the long table, round which leaned
despondingly a dozen of empty chairs. Vendel-gazda sat near the
cupboard, in a red flannel dressing-gown and a pointed white cap with
a blue border; his hands, which were placed on his vast stomach, held
a plated snuff-box, and with his legs outstretched beneath the table,
he snored away to his heart's content, while the much-esteemed goblet
stood before him like an old fat dame with her arms a-kimbo.
Hanzli having closed the shutters, and looked about him to see that
all was right, listened hard for a few moments to his master's deep
breathing, as he bobbed behind the tankard, and then hastily making up
his mind, he shambled over with long strides on tiptoe--hands, eyes,
and mouth all moving together, as if he were stepping with each of
them, and, pausing before the table, he raised one leg, balanced
himself on the other, and peeped into the depths of the tankard. It
was still half full. This was enough. Having once more peeped into it
to make sure that his imagination was not deceiving him, he seized it
by the two ears, and, raising it to his month, began to draw in the
unoffered beverage, his knees bending under him, and his eyes starting
from his head with the enormous exertion.
As he continued raising the huge tankard till half his head was within
it, a tremendous explosion was suddenly heard in the kitchen, as if
pots and pans were being thrown at somebody's head, which so startled
Hanzli that he emptied the remains of the barley nectar over his head
and shoulders; and what was his mortification when, on replacing the
empty tankard, he encountered Vendel's green eye staring at him wide
open, as if to say, "I see you, my lad; and I wish you good health!"
but that was not what he said.
"Hanzli, my lad, go and see what is broken in the kitchen." Could he
have uttered a severer reproof?
But Hanzli had too much sense and too much confidence in his master's
goodness to believe that he was in earnest; he knew that he would
probably return with the answer that it was his nose that was broken;
and having recovered from his first embarrassment, he merely drew a
long breath terminating in a whistle, and shook his head until the
shake resolved itself into a wave.
"Poor Master Vendel!" he seemed to say; "it was another world in
Mistress Nani's lifetime; you were not then roused from your sleep in
this manner."
Vendel-gazda replied by a pitiful gaze at Hanzli. He would have
clasped his hands too, but only the tips of his fingers could reach
each other. He looked as if he would have said: "My poor lad, Hanzli,
you too have a bad job of it now-a-days; in Mistress Nani's lifetime,
the key of the cellar lived in your pocket, and you were not then
obliged to empty my tankard."
The two countrymen were used to this silent language. They might have
conversed in their own tongue, to be sure. But then, who knows--in
short, there are cases--and Vendel and Hanzli were of this opinion--in
which least said is soonest mended.
And now Master Vendel's head began to wave very disastrously; his
whole appearance was one large, living, fat complaint. It was like
that feeling which a man experiences when he knows that there is
something the matter with him, something seriously wrong, but cannot
exactly tell what it is.
"Hanzli, my lad!" he exclaimed at last, in a very weak voice, after
they had exhausted their telegraphic repartee; "Hanzli, tell me what
is the matter with you."
Hanzli raised both his shoulders to his ears, extending the palms of
his hands outwards, and lifted his eyebrows to the top of his
forehead--implying by this gesture that he knew very well what was the
matter with him, but was wise enough to keep it to himself.
"Hm!" replied Vendel, and was again silent. He would not force the lad
to speak--an excellent policy, if intentional; for when words are not
forced, they force themselves. Hanzli by degrees shambled up nearer
his master, and after fidgeting about, coughing, and standing on one
leg, he suddenly turned round, placed his finger on the side of his
nose, and stooping to a level with Vendel's ear, whispered into it:
"Indeed, indeed, master, the misfortune is this, and this alone,--that
you have no heir."
"What have I not, Hanzli?"
"That you have no son or daughter."
At these words Vendel's eye opened wide, and he struck the table with
a force which sent the four-quart tankard dancing about as if the
tartar were in it; then, holding up his enormous face, he began to
look out of himself. An entirely new idea seemed to thrill through
him, as if he had just been assured that perpetual motion had not yet
been discovered, and that he was the man to discover it.
"You are right, Hanzli!" he exclaimed; "I have no son or daughter; and
what if I had?"
"Why then, you see, master," said Hanzli, looking behind him at each
word, "you see there would be something for the wife to do--somebody
to quarrel with, that you might not be always disturbed; and then you
could sit all day in the large arm-chair drinking and sleeping, and
the children would come and kiss your hand morning and evening, and
you could take them on your knee and tell them of the far-famed
Rübezahl,[67] and if they made a noise you could scold them yourself;
and then, in after years, all the excellent mysteries of the noble art
of brewing would devolve on them, and you would leave a renowned
progeny after you; and how nice all this would be!"
[Footnote 67: The subject of an old German legend.]
Vendel's pride felt all the weight of this argument: his eye
glistened, his clenched fists were raised to his mouth, and he smiled
as complacently as a Tyrolian cheese, and sighed so deeply, that it
might have been a hurricane on Lichtenstein's estate. This poetical
turn was still more imposing than the melancholy one, but it did not
last long. Vendel's ideas were forced to descend from their airy
regions, for the door opened, and a profane figure entered, carrying
the pole of a cart as a staff, and advanced with heavy steps to the
farthest end of the long table, where he seated himself on a bench,
and grumbling out, in a tone which would have put a bear to shame,
"Wine here!" he elbowed himself out of his mantle, and pushed the long
pole behind him.
The intruder was a middle-aged man, tall and muscular; his skin was of
a dark reddish brown, and shone as if it had been rubbed with oil; his
black knotty hair was divided in the middle, and fell in matted
clusters on either side; and his beard was spiral, and twisted like a
gipsy's farewell.[68]
[Footnote 68: Gipsy's farewell--a byword, because they generally
terminate the last notes of their music by various turns and windings
of the air.]
He wore a high csalma,[69] in the top of which was stuck a red pipe;
and a large brass monogram, the initials of the lord of the domain,
was fastened on one side.
[Footnote 69: A kind of toque worn by the peasants in some districts.]
Wine was placed before him, which he swallowed in silence, only now
and then grumbling something inarticulately to himself. When he had
drunk a few glasses, he took the pipe out of his csalma, and lighting
it at the candle, leant upon one elbow and began to smoke. He seemed
upon no ceremony, and was evidently no stranger in the house. Hanzli
stood before him with his mouth open, and his hands behind his back;
and Vendel reclined in his arm-chair, giving full scope to the flights
of his imagination.
At last the silent guest, tired of leaning on one elbow, exchanged it
for the other, and, nodding condescendingly to Hanzli, he emptied his
pipe; and again leaning on his arm, and drawing his mouth fearfully to
one side with his fist, exclaimed: "Well, Hanzli deak,[70] have you
heard that the French are coming?"
[Footnote 70: Scholar, student.]
"Ah, indeed!" cried Hanzli, starting; "from Turkey?"
Hanzli had studied about two years, and knew something of geography.
He could speak a little Hungarian, too, and Moravian, and German--just
enough of each to prevent him being sold in any of them (had there
been anybody to buy him), and he jumbled all these languages together
so strangely, that it would have been difficult to say which one he
meant to speak.
"Indeed, I cannot tell that; I do not know where they come from,"
replied the guest. "But this much is certain, that they all carry
their heads under their arms, have eyes in their shoulders, and when
they get hold of a man they snap his head off--kakk it goes!"
Hanzli raised his hands to his neck: he thought they had got him
already.
"Just so," continued the guest, wiping his bearded chin with the
sleeve of his coat. "Then all their generals eat two pounds of iron,
every morning, and wash it down with a pint of vitriol."
"By all the saints!" exclaimed Hanzli, opening his mouth and eyes;
"have you seen them yet, Andras-gazda?"
"I was at a place where they were talking about them: my godfather's
niece has a bridegroom whose brother is serving with the green csako
hussars--they have just quartered a troop in the district, and it was
he who related it."
At the word 'hussar,' Vendel's attention began to be excited; it was
the only word he understood in Hungarian, and it brought to his
recollection so much poultry which had been carried off by the kites,
and so many barrels of wine which the great bell[71] had paid, and
still pays for to the present day.
[Footnote 71: In Hungary, there is a proverb that unpaid debts will be
collected by the great bell.]
But it is a bad thing to mention the evil one, for he is sure to be
prowling about the garden; and Vendel-gazda had scarcely time to
summon to his imagination that human being metamorphosed into the
inhuman called a hussar, before the door burst open, as if Sisera's
army had arrived, and six moustached figures, each one smarter and
more agile than the last, entered with a clash of arms, which would
have disturbed the philosophy of any honest peace-loving Bohemian in
Christendom; and instead of seating themselves at the table, as any
other reasonable Christians would have done, they clinked and rattled
about here and there, making jests on the pictures of Cossack feats on
the walls, with their pendants of Spring, Summer, and Winter.
One among them was a singularly handsome youth, with raven hair, and
eyes which flashed like lightning; his pointed dark moustache was
provokingly becoming, and his figure as supple as a young leopard's,
but he was certainly the most unreasonable of the party: he gave no
rest to man or beast, and was the bane of every honest soul with whom
he came in contact. Scarcely had he entered, than he stumbled over
Hanzli, who was gaping in solemn wonder at the new-comers, his back
bent and his neck stretched forward, as if he were trying to personify
the letter S.
"Your servant, nephew!" exclaimed the hussar, thrusting his fingers
among the youth's hair, and making it all stand on end; "well, what
have you been about since we last met?"
As they had never met in their lives before, this question and the
cockatoo _frisure_ so embarrassed Hanzli, that he seized the bottle
which stood before Andras-gazda and raised it to his lips, with as
little ceremony as if that good man had not been sitting behind it.
"Have you lost your senses?" cried Andras-gazda, seizing the tails of
Hanzli's coat.
"Make haste, man!" cried a voice deeper than any bass fiddle; "thunder
and storms! make haste, man, and bring something to drink, or
else"--and then followed a torrent of oaths, which it would be
difficult and highly unbecoming to render into any known language.
The voice proceeded from under the huge moustache of the hussar
sergeant, who had seated himself on the bench with an imposing dignity
that became his rank.
Hanzli disappeared, but in a few minutes he shuffled back, and placed
a brilliantly coloured plate before the sergeant.
"Did I ask for anything to eat, you stork, that you have brought me a
plate instead of a glass?"
Hanzli again disappeared, and returned with a glass of foaming beer,
which he placed before the hussar, handing him a fork at the same
time.
"What the tartar do you take me for?" cried the hussar furiously,
"that you should suppose I am going to drink such confounded stuff, as
never before entered the mouth of any of my kindred!"
Hanzli's confusion increased at every step, till at last he could not
find his own hands.
Oh, the worthy German dragoons! they were much more reasonable guests;
they knew how to appreciate the good barley-bree! Then each had his
own place, and his own tankard, beside which he would sit half the
night singing honest German songs, or treating of Kant's philosophy,
till some had fallen asleep on their benches, and others under them!
But the Magyar people have no conception of the ecstatic, or of
beer-drinking; and it would be morally impossible to cut German or
philosophy out of their nature.
Vendel-gazda had so completely lost all presence of mind, that he
actually raised the tankard three times to his lips before he
perceived that it was empty. From his earliest childhood he had grown
up with the idea that every honest soul should keep clear of hussar
soldiery; but he was not quite certain as to whether Mistress Vicza
had been educated in the same principles.
Beneath the cupboard, with its head resting on Vendel's slippers, lay
his favourite curly-haired, tail-clipped poodle, emitting now a half
sneeze in its sleep, and now a snarl, as if in sympathy with its
master's feelings.
"Good evening to you, Master Host," exclaimed the mischief-loving
hussar, at the same time striking him on the shoulder as familiarly as
if he had been one of his own recruits.
Vendel opened his eyes--that is, his eye--as wide as possible; while
the hussar, seizing his enormous palm, gave it such a hearty slap that
the room echoed with the sound, and then shaking it after the
Hungarian fashion till the whole of the fat Colossus trembled like
jelly, he sat down on the bench beside him, and thrust his finger and
thumb into the open snuff-box, which the good man held in the other
hand. In trying to find a place for his feet under the table, he trod
so hard on the stump of the sleeping poodle's tail that it actually
crackled, sending the poor animal howling most lamentably round the
room, while his howls were re-echoed by all the six or eight dogs in
the court-yard.
"Come, come, don't make such a noise," said the hussar; "what if I had
stood on your nose?" And as the dog returned to its accustomed place
at its master's feet, he got hold of its head between his knees and
filled its nostrils with snuff; while the poor animal, endeavouring to
bite, bark, and sneeze at the same time, exhibited the most ludicrous
appearance. Everybody in the room was ready to split with laughter;
even Hanzli ventured to grin, and thereby incurred the displeasure of
his gracious master, who turned his eye upon him severely, as if to
say: "I take the joke from the soldiers, because they are hussars; but
you are Hanzli, and you have no business to laugh."
Meanwhile, poor Vendel's nose grew longer and longer. "What a terrible
race!" thought he to himself; "they respect neither heaven nor earth,
never drink beer, take an honest man's snuff to give it to his dog,
and then laugh at the whole affair! Heaven preserve us! what may not
come next?"
What indeed!
Mankind has a singular propensity for thrusting his nose wherever he
hears laughter or noise; and considering this weakness, what should be
more natural than that all the inhabitants of the kitchen should press
to the door of the beer-room to hear what was going on, and
consequently that Mistress Vicza, with her eyes burning like two
coals, should immediately follow in the track of the "linen folk?"
But no sooner did the sparkling eyes, the rosy cheeks, and the elastic
figure of Mistress Vicza make its appearance, than the hussar started
from his post beside Vendel, and bounded towards the door.
"Ah, sweet one! I have not seen you yet," he exclaimed, proceeding
_brevi manu_ to span the small waist of the pretty hostess.
"For shame, sir!" exclaimed Mistress Vicza, extricating herself from
the hussar's grasp; and then, running over to her husband, she began
to caress and fondle him--drawing his cap over his head, and trying to
make room for herself on the bench beside him--though, at the very
moment she was kissing the dear old man, her bright eyes glanced slily
at the handsome hussar. (_Pro memoria_ to every married man--when his
wife kisses up one of his eyes, let him look well after her with the
other.)
Our hero, in order to repair his fault, after looking about him and
twisting his moustache, turned suddenly towards the group of servants
assembled at the door, and seizing the nearest, a plump, rosy-faced
little girl, with long plaited hair tied with gay ribbons, he
imprinted a hearty kiss on her cheek, on which she screamed so loudly
that he started back in alarm, bounding over the tables and chairs in
his way.
"I'll settle your wits for you, master, if you can't behave better
than that!" cried a deep voice in echo to the scream.
"How now! what is the matter, countryman?" said the hussar, peering
into the bold countenance of the hardy peasant.
"'What is the matter?' that girl there is my bride; and I'll soon let
you know what the matter is, if you dare to touch her again!"
"Ah! is that the case? who knows but that she would prefer me, after
all?" replied the hussar, and, leaping over the table, he once more
seized this living organ of sound, who screamed louder than before.
"Storms of Karpath!" shouted Andras, starting up, and kicking the
bench from before him; then dashing his cap on the ground, he began
tucking up the sleeves of his shirt.
"You want to fight, I suppose?" said the hussar, smiling complacently;
"but swords are not made out of scythes, and you had better leave a
hussar alone."
"That I shall not, when he touches my bride, were he a dog-faced
Tartar! I shall beat him not only out of this, but out of the world
too, if he had a thousand souls! I don't care for your sword, Master
Hussar;" and loosing the mantle from his neck, the sturdy peasant
seized the pole he had brought with him, and held it forth with an arm
as knotty as an oak.
"Don't be foolish, now, Andras!" cried the little girl, running over
to the pole-gladiator, and endeavouring to pacify him.
"Keep yourself out of the way, Panna," said Andras; "this is no time
for trifling; I'll show him who is master here!"
"Why now, Andras, if you are determined to fight, I will get a weapon
of your own dimensions," and, laughing gaily, the hussar opened the
door and went into the court.
"Bring what you like, the beam of a mill, or an oak-tree, I don't fear
you, with six others at your back!" cried the athletic labourer,
assuming an offensive and defensive position with his back to the
wall.
"Don't be reckoning on us," said the sergeant; "we have nothing to say
to you--the lad can stand for himself."
"You will probably part company soon," muttered Andras, waiting with
open eyes for the hussar's return.
He appeared at length, with neither a mill-beam nor an oak tree, but a
long, slender reed, which he had pulled out of the roof.
"What! do you dare to make a fool of me?" cried Andras furiously.
"Not I," replied the hussar seriously, and stepping up to him, he
began shaking the reed before his antagonist's face, who tried in vain
to catch it, growing more impatient every instant, as the reed tickled
his nose and mouth, and the gay laugh of the hussar rang in his ears,
till at last, maddened with fury, he swung violently round and dashed
the great cart-pole with such violence before him, that it brought
down a shower of lime and mortar from the opposite wall, against which
it fell, after causing great havoc on its way--several chairs and
tables lay despoiled of arms and legs on the ground, and the two-eared
tankard before Vendel-gazda was shivered into a thousand splinters;
while Hanzli lay below one of the tables contemplating the scene at
full length. What became of the hussar, or how he managed to escape in
that critical moment, Heaven only knows; but when Andras looked about
him, after this feat of annihilating rage, he found the reed still at
his mouth, like a cigar twelve feet long, and the hussar standing
opposite to him as before.
A general burst of laughter responded to Andras's gape of
astonishment.
"Well, if ever I saw a match for that since I lived at Kiliti!"
exclaimed the perplexed peasant, rubbing his eyes.
But what were mine host Vendel's feelings during all this excitement?
he who loved peace and quiet, to what had he come at last? Disorder
and misrule had taken possession of his house, he heard oaths which
made his hair stand on end, his snuff-box was rifled without
permission, his poodle's tail trod upon, he himself laughed at, and
finally, open war carried on in his presence, and his favourite
tankard, which had been esteemed and honoured, and had grown old in
his house, was destroyed for ever, never to be used again, even beyond
the grave, where he hoped to meet the three wives who had gone before
him! It was more than a Bohemian-German brewer, who wore a night-cap,
and was married for the fourth time, could be expected to bear.
"Go to your beds, my good folk!" he exclaimed, addressing his
household in piteous accents, and rising solemnly from his seat; "let
me get away from hence, Viczikam; let my bed be warmed with hot irons,
for I am ill, very ill, and perhaps I may die. Alas! I am sick, sick!
Vicza, I am dying!"
"For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?" cried his wife in a tone of
great alarm, which was echoed by all the servants, who were of course
much alarmed also.
"Bring elder-flowers from the attics," cried Mistress Vicza; "get a
linseed poultice directly, boil water for the tea, and warm the pans;
you, Hanzli, run to the barber's for leeches. Beatrice, lay down the
bed immediately, and prepare hot irons--the gazda is sick, very sick;
his head burns like an oven, and his hand is as cold as a frozen
turnip; make haste--fly! two steps for one!"
The servants dispersed right and left to their various appointments,
and some, directed by Mistress Vicza, seized Vendel by the arms and
legs, and carried him off, neck and crop, to his bedroom, where they
rolled him up in three feather-beds and half-a-dozen pillows, and made
him drink a quart of camomile and as much elder-tea; while Mistress
Vicza sat beside him with a hand-brush, which she applied unmercifully
if he attempted to move hand or foot from under the feather-beds.
This is the village cure for every complaint. The patient is boiled in
his own soup, and if he does not suffocate, or die of apoplexy, he is
sure to be cured.
Vendel-gazda was at first only shamming ill. He wished to be in peace
and quiet, and he wished to be made much of; but Mistress Vicza had
fairly outwitted him, and he ended by believing what he had himself
invented; he felt that it was either the heat or the cold, but some
sort of fever it certainly was. The hot tea which he had drunk, the
sack of linseed porridge which had been placed on his stomach, the
vesicatorium applied to his soles, the anxious faces about him, the
tiptoe tread, the odour of vinegar poured on heated iron to carry off
infection, the hands laid on his forehead, the whispered opinions, all
gave rise to those peculiar sensations experienced at the beginning of
an illness--a sort of congealment in the head, and a swarming
sensation throughout the whole system.
"Vicza!" whispered the patient from beneath the feather beds, from
which only his nose was seen rising like a main-mast; "Vicza, I am
thirsty!"
"The czerjo fu[72] will be here directly, my dear old man, and then
you can drink it; meanwhile, you may suck your lips a little."
[Footnote 72: Thousand-sweets, an herb.]
Alas! it was not czerjo-fu tea that Vendel wanted to drink, but he did
not dare to say so.
"See, here it is, hot and bitter, for my dear old man! wait, I will
pour some into the saucer--now, drink it, and you will be quite well;
but take care not to burn your mouth."
"Brrrrrphü!" exclaimed the self-made patient, shuddering, as he took
the first mouthful; "this must be poison!"
"Poison indeed! it is excellent physic. I will drink some myself;
there now--delightful! it will cure you perfectly--drink now, my old
man, drink it, quick! come now, drink it when I tell you."
In short, _nolens volens_, Vendel was obliged to open his mouth, and
swallow what is erroneously called a thousand sweets, but is, in
truth, a hundred thousand bitters.
It is a well-known fact that strong bitters produce a strong appetite,
and this was the case thirty years ago, just as at present.
Vendel-gazda contented himself for some time by sighing deeply, and
grimacing with his nose, which was the only part of his body in active
condition, till at last, no longer able to control his impatience, he
beckoned to Mistress Vicza, and whispered something in a beseeching
tone, accompanied by a cannibal expression of countenance.
"You insatiable cormorant!" said Mistress Vicza angrily, "what will
you want next?" and, drawing the capacious night-cap over his head,
she bade him go to sleep, and left the room.
A deep and heavy sigh burst from poor Vendel's lips.
What the mystic word may or may not have been, has remained a secret
to historians. Psychologians and philosophers, however, who are
initiated in the sacred mysteries of gastronomy, may explain it in the
simple expression, "I am hungry."
Mistress Vicza, however, recommended the sufferer to forget his
tortures in sleep.
But Vendel could not sleep. Fearful and strange apparitions rose
before his hungry imagination. Now a gigantic mast of Augsburg sausage
sailed past, followed by an immeasurable side of bacon; now a host of
rosy, smiling Bohemian pampuskas, their preserves squeezing out from
every corner, came flying and leaping around him; anon a respectable
beer-flask floated gravely by, with its venerable crown of white foam,
accompanied by a roasted pig of unusual dimensions; then followed in
diverse rotation, the whole system of bakes, stews, and roasts, and
all sorts of nameable and nameless hashes, minces, and rich soups,
emitting their savoury odours and aromatic flavours.
"Oh, hundredfold unhappy man that I am, not to be able to devour all
these!" said the hungry brewer to himself, as swallowing his saliva,
he turned to the wall, and tried to say his prayers.
But how could he pray under such circumstances? hungry and thirsty,
with the water actually running from his mouth; besides which, the
loud voices in the next room scolding, laughing, and fighting, were by
no means calculated to inspire devotional feeling.
While he was thus suffering and struggling within himself--now
whimpering, and now gnawing his coverlet--all at once, he thought he
felt the pillow begin to move under his head, while certain mysterious
whisperings met his ear; at last, something laid hold of his head.
"What is that!"
"Ja--ha--hai! it is me, master," said a voice, accompanied by a
chattering of teeth.
Vendel looked round. Hanzli stood before him, his face of a livid
green, his knees knocking together, and his hair standing on end.
Vendel thought he beheld a spectre. He tried to cry out, but his
tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he could not articulate a
syllable.
"Master!" exclaimed the youth with upturned eyes; and, trembling
violently, he fell upon both knees, and seized the collar of Vendel's
night-dress so tightly, that the latter thought he was going to choke
him, but he did not--no, he did not; on the contrary, Hanzli began to
weep bitterly, and to kiss his master's huge hand, while he could only
exclaim in a voice choked with sobs, "Master, master!"
"I hear, my lad; but what is the matter with you?"
"Oh, nothing the matter with me; but my master is ruined for ever;
they are going to seize him and carry him off, and make a terrible job
of him!"
"What are you talking of, Hanzli, my lad?" exclaimed the amazed
brewer; "what do you mean?"
"Well, do you know, master, what the enemy, this terrible,
vitriol-drinking enemy, has come for?"
"Not I."
"Nor did I know it before, but now I know it all. Oh! to think that it
was for _that_ they have come across kingdoms and worlds with fire and
sword! to think that they have been searching governments and realms
for _that_!"
"For what?"
"Why, did I not say it?"
"For my wife, perhaps?" cried the ex-patient, starting up, hunger and
thirst alike forgotten.
"That would have been a good idea!" thought Hanzli; "they might have
done that, but they did not. It is for you yourself, my beloved
master--for you alone that all this war is waging," he whispered, with
upraised eyes, pointing with his long ape-like arms to his master, who
had fallen on his back; for though he did not understand the
circumstances of the affair, he was very much alarmed for all that.
He stared at Hanzli, and Hanzli stared at him; both seemed afraid of
renewing the conversation.
"But why--what does the French Emperor want with me?" asked Vendel at
last, in a voice faint with suspense and terror.
"Ay," replied Hanzli, "that is the thing! They have a great project
about you, master. I saw the green csako hussars whispering together,
and shaking their heads. 'That is the man,' I heard them say, 'and no
other;' and I came as near as possible to listen who or what it could
be, and what should I hear"--
"Well, and what did you hear?"
"They said--whispering as low as possible, that nobody might hear
them--that the French Emperor would not cease devastating the land
with fire and sword, until they delivered him up as a ransom"--
"Well?"
"Until they gave him, as a ransom, a man weighing five
hundredweight"--
"And what do they want with him?" gasped Vendel.
"And therefore they are determined to weigh you to-morrow; and if you
strike the weight, they will immediately hand you over to the Emperor
of the French! All this they whispered very low; but I heard them,
master, for all that."
"But what does he want with me, Hanzli? do you not know what he
wants?"
"Oh, it will kill you, master, to hear it! Nothing more nor less
than"--
"Than what?"
"Than to preserve you in spirits for his museum!"
"All ye saints!" roared Vendel, leaping up on his bed; "preserve me in
spirits of wine like the four-legged hen, or the double-tailed
lizard!"
"Just so, master, and alive too!"
"But it shall not be!" roared Vendel. "They shall not preserve me in
spirits; I have no desire for such an honour--none at all! Come, help
me up. Where are my slippers? Holy prophet Jonas! no wish for it
whatever! Reach me my jacket and my cap. St. Florian and Habakkuk!
help me to dress. My cloak, my cloak, Hanzli--St. Cecilia! my cloak!
Let us run, my lad, run"--
"But whither?"
This was the question.
"Where? out of the window, of course. Take the hatchet and knock out
the cross beams--that's it! never mind breaking the glass! Now, raise
me up, Hanzli; let us run!"
And the next moment there was a terrible crash outside the window,
occasioned by the descent of Vendel, which luckily the noise of the
revellers within prevented them from hearing.
"But where shall we go now?"
This was the next question, for Vendel-gazda's legs were not exactly
fashioned to run away with him. What was to be done?
At last Hanzli bethought him of a large wheel-barrow, which lay under
a shed close by; and bringing it out, he placed his master in it, and
wheeled him down a by-road which led behind the village; while the
gigantic effort of this superhuman undertaking bent his back into a C,
and caused his eyes to start almost out of their sockets.
His master tried to encourage him as well as he could: "Push on, my
brave boy! I will serve you another time--only push on!"
At last they reached the end of the village. Poor Hanzli still
continued pushing his immense burden before him, panting and snorting,
while his back seemed ready to break at every step, and Vendel still
continued his words of encouragement. "That's right I push on, my
boy!--we will rest anon."
They reached the maize-ground.
Hanzli was nearly exhausted; and just as he was exerting his last
strength to roll the sisyphian burden over a little mound--while
Vendel urged him forward as usual, crying, "Push on, my lad, push out
just a little more!"--plump! the barrow turned to one side, and the
whole contents were precipitated into a muddy ditch.
"Oh! alas! I am lost! Mercy, Hanzli; save me!" cried the prostrate
Blasius.
Hanzli did his best; and after much labour, succeeded in dragging his
master out of the mud.
"But now you must get on, master, as you best can, on your own two
legs; for if you expect me to push the barrow any more, I must just
leave you here--my spine is split already; I shall never be fit for
anything."
"Don't be foolish, my lad; you surely don't mean to forsake me! Help
me at least to hide somewhere. You know very well how I always loved
you--like my own son, Hanzlikam!"
"Well then, don't be talking about it; but just get up and give me
your arm. Iai! if you are going to lean on me in that manner, master,
I won't go a step farther. Just try to move your own legs--so, so."
And by dint of threats and encouragement, Hanzli succeeded in dragging
his unhappy master through the maize till they reached a small shed,
the sides and roof of which were somewhat dilapidated by wind and
rain. Bundles of reeds, plaited together with maize stems, formed the
shed-walls, through which the flowers of the sweet hazel-nut grew up
luxuriantly; within, there was nothing but a legion of gnats.
"Am I to remain here?" asked Vendel in a voice of despair, surveying
the shed, which was almost filled when he was inside.
"Don't be afraid, master! nobody will think of looking for you here."
"But where am I to sit down?"
"Why, on the ground, master."
"St. Jeremias! that is a hard seat."
"Never mind, master; it is better than being preserved in spirits of
wine."
"But it is very cold; and then I am very hungry, too."
"Well, we can help that, master. I will go home and bring you a whole
loaf, and some bacon."
"Nothing else? You surely do not wish me to starve, Hanzli?"
"I do not wish that, master; but indeed you must try and get down a
little, at least half a hundredweight, unless you intend to spend your
life here in eternal concealment."
Vendel looked round in dismay. "Very well, my son, very well--that is,
I mean, very bad, very bad; but it can't be helped. Bring my dog,
Hanzli, that I may have something to speak to at least when I am
alone, and to take care of me."
"Well, Heaven bless you, master, till I come back again! and don't be
afraid."
"Hanzli, don't speak of me to _anybody_,--you know who _that_ is,
Hanzli--not a syllable!"
"No, no; no, no!"
And Vendel was left alone to his own reflections, which were anything
but agreeable. Cold and hungry, turned out of his comfortable home and
warm bed, to pass the night in a damp maize-shed--and all for the
caprice of a sovereign who wished to preserve him in spirits!
In about an hour's time, every moment of which seemed an eternity to
our poor fugitive, Hanzli returned laden with various articles. Vendel
descried him at some distance, and rejoiced in seeing him thus bent
beneath his burden, believing he had brought the whole contents of the
larder on his back.
"What is that on your back, Hanzli?" he called to him as he
approached.
"A sheaf of straw, and a cloak."
"Iai! nothing to eat? And what is that in your arms?"
"That is the poodle, which I was obliged to carry, for he would not
come with me."
"And the bread, and the other things?" asked Vendel anxiously.
"Here it is, in the bag."
Alas! this bag was a very small concern.
"And have you brought nothing to drink, Hanzli?"
"Yes, master, in this bottle."
"That's right! Reach it here; let me draw the cork. Oh! are you a
heathen, Hanzli?--there is nothing here but water!"
"But it is quite fresh."
"Do you wish to kill me, Hanzli?" Large tears stood in poor Vendel's
eyes.
"Come now, master, don't be grumbling; there is enough to eat and
drink. We will hang up the bag on these cross beams, and I will make
your bed. See now, you may sleep soundly there, and I will come back
again to-morrow. Good night, master; shut the door after me."
And Vendel was again alone. Ay, such is human life! Man can be secure
of nothing in this world; even when he lies down in a comfortable bed,
there is no saying where he may awake in the morning!
Thus philosophized poor Vendel as he lay on his back on the hard
earth. It was now quite dark; one or two inquisitive stars peeped
through the cracks of the shed, but all was silent as death.
Vendel was just beginning to feel drowsy, when all at once he heard
something or somebody speaking close to him in the German
accent--indeed the sounds were quite distinct.
"Quak, quak, frakk!"
"Who the tartar can that be?"
"Quak, quak, frakk!"
"Perhaps it is Sclavonian they are talking," thought Vendel: "Jako sza
volas, moje dusa?"[73]
[Footnote 73: "What is your name, my dear?"]
"Quak, quak, frakk!" The voice came always nearer; until at last
Vendel summoned resolution to stretch out his hand in the direction of
the sound to feel for its cause.
Something cold moved under his fingers--as cold as a frog. What the
tartar could it be? as cold as a frog, speaks German, and moves!
Vendel could not guess; but he once more addressed the mysterious
creature, and then, seizing his cap from off his head, he laid it over
it, that he might not find it staring in his face next morning; after
which, he took the loaf out of the bag, and breaking off the crust,
placed it under his head as a pillow, and slept soundly till
daybreak;--for though he was once or twice disturbed by something
pulling his hair or scratching his head, he was too much fatigued to
take much notice of it, and only shook his head and fell asleep again.
Towards morning, however, he began to be troubled by fearful dreams. A
vast museum rose before him, in which were divers stuffed pelicans,
ostriches, storks, crocodiles, sea-horses, peacocks, long-tailed
monkeys, and dog-faced Tartars, embalmed speckled devils, petrified
angels, and suchlike _naturæ curiosa_, all standing in long rows,
among which were one or two critics, hung by the legs.
But what most attracted his attention, were two gigantic glasses
placed in the middle of the room, both filled with spirits, and bound
round the top with oilskin, in one of which stood a meagre elephant,
swinging his long trunk before him, with frizzed hair, glazed boots, a
wide frock coat, and high collar, from each side of which protruded
his long tusks.
But now for the other glass! There floated Master Vendel himself,
swelled to twice his original size, in his yellow flannel coat and
coloured slippers, and stamping with all his force to break out of his
prison. He tried to cry out, too; but when he opened his mouth, the
spirits went down his throat. At last he made a desperate leap to get
his head through the oilskin, and kicked out--the side of the reed
shed.
"Ahhaouhh!" he cried with a loud yawn, infinitely relieved at finding
himself there, instead of in the French Emperor's museum. "It was a
good thing I did not submit to _that_; a terrible job they would have
made of me, no doubt!"
Vendel then sat up, and began to think of breakfasting. He looked
about for the loaf; but no loaf was to be seen--only a few scattered
crumbs marked the place it had once occupied as a pillow.
"Well!" sighed Vendel, summoning all his philosophy; "I must eat the
bacon alone, though I shall probably be ill after it."
But Providence had taken care that Vendel should not be ill through
this means: the ham was nowhere to be found--only the empty bag lay on
the ground.
Fearful spectres floated across the waste of Vendel's brain. "Filax!"
he cried, but the poodle did not answer: there was a mine scratched
out under the reeds, by which he had probably made his escape.
Vendel burst open the door, and the first thing which met his eye was
his faithful dog quietly gnawing the bones of the bacon.
"Alas, alas! I am lost!" cried Vendel, falling on his back in utter
despair.
Fortunately, some secret misgiving induced the faithful Hanzli to
return about noon with a fresh transport of provisions, otherwise the
poor brewer, like King Eu---- (the tartar knows what comes next!),
might have been tempted to eat himself up.
"Hanzli, my son! take away the dog, and bring a cat instead; the mice
have eaten all my bread, and the dog has carried off the bacon. But
what of the hussars, Hanzli?"
"Oh! they are already beyond the frontiers; they made a great noise
till early in the morning, when they mounted their horses and galloped
off. Since then, they have probably been in battle."
"And Mistress Vicza?"
"They have not carried her off," replied Hanzli with a bitter sigh.
"She is going on in a terrible way, looking for you everywhere. She
thinks you are after no good, and promises that you shall smart for it
when you return."
"Utcza! I am between two fires!" thought poor Vendel. "On one side the
French Emperor, on the other my wife: one wants to have me under a
glass, the other under her thumb!"
"But keep yourself well hid, for the enemy is approaching," continued
Hanzli. "All the gentlemen of the town are hiding their effects under
the beams and in the cellars, and their wives are cooking and baking
all sorts of cakes; the very roads are covered with pastry. They say
the enemy fires with red powder, and there is a strong smell of pepper
all about. Heaven preserve us when they come! for they are a terrible
merciless set, it is said, and spare neither man nor child; and they
have such a love for torture, that they will bend two trees together
for their diversion, and tie a man's legs to them, then suddenly let
them go, and whip! he is split in two!"
"Ale! iui!"
"Then they tie the women together by the hair, and drive them off to
the markets in Africa."
"I say, Hanzli, how far is it to Africa?"
"I have not heard that yet, master; but I daresay as far as
Szerdahely."[74]
[Footnote 74: A little town about twenty miles north of Raab.]
"I should like to know, in order that, if they carry off Vicza, I
could reckon in how many days she might return."
"But what if they carry me off? and then some dog-faced young lady in
Africa may fall in love with me! sure enough, and then eat me! They
say they fatten a man up with currants and other fruits, and then eat
him!"
"Alas! my son, Hanzli! if they carry you off and eat you, there will
be nobody to bring me anything to eat! For Heaven's sake, Hanzli, take
care of thyself!" And the good man seized Hanzli, and kissed and
embraced him till the lad thought a bear had got him in its clutches,
and was so blinded in consequence of the squeezing, that he stumbled
about afterwards like a shell-fish on shore.
Days passed on. Hanzli continued to bring food to his master morning
and evening, and to enliven his solitude with the numerous reports he
had heard in the village, and which were not unfrequently the cause of
sleepless nights to poor Vendel.
Meanwhile, the maize was growing tall and yellow; the pumpkins were
ripening beneath their great shady leaves, and the starlings visited
the happy fields. Early in the mornings Vendel went up a neighbouring
hillock, from whence he could see the village, and watch the smoke of
the chimneys, and hear the dogs barking from a distance, and the bells
ringing; then, when the sun rose, he would sigh deeply and go back to
his hut, where he lay down till Hanzli returned with food; nor would
he venture out again till the sun sank below the horizon, when he
would creep forth once more, and watch the shepherds' fires on the
meadows, and listen to the herd-bells returning to the village, or the
merry creaking of waggon-wheels over the plains; and then the moon
rose, like a bright silver twentypence--so rare an appearance in those
days (not the moon, but the twentypence), and poor Hornyicsek gazed at
St. David and his harp in the bright planet, and bethought him of the
happy times when he used to watch it from his marble bench, with his
head in a state of brilliant clairvoyance, illuminated by beer. The
mild evening breeze sighed softly through the leaves of the maize, and
the crickets chirped around him. If Vendel had been a poet, he could
not have desired more; but unfortunately, as it was, all this was lost
to him, and he would readily have been excused the enjoyment of such
romantic scenes.
The good man now discovered that his clothes were growing wider every
day, and that he mounted the hillock with much less difficulty than
formerly. He began to think that he might now with safety return to
the village; but Hanzli dissuaded him, declaring that he was still
much too fat, though he put him on stricter diet every day.
Thus several weeks passed by, which were unmarked by any incident of
great importance in regard to Vendel. True, the ants sometimes took
his residence by storm, causing him considerable inconvenience by day
and night; once a fearful hurricane nearly terrified him to death; and
a mad buffalo kept beating about the maize-ground one afternoon,
bellowing fearfully round the shed, while Vendel did not dare to
breathe or stir. But there was one adventure which very much disturbed
the good man's equanimity; and as it had, besides, some influence on
his future proceedings, we shall relate it more in detail.
We have already mentioned that Vendel was haunted by some _uncanny_
spirit, which seemed to converse in German, was cold to the touch, and
moved. This visit had been frequently repeated, and Vendel had as
often covered the intruder with his cap; but next morning, when he
raised it carefully, there was nothing to be seen but a hole in the
ground, which was quite dark, and seemed to descend into the depths of
the earth.
One evening, as he was musing over the mysteries of this secret
passage, he thought he heard steps outside the shed, accompanied by
low whisperings. Shortly after, a strange phenomenon took place at the
mysterious hole; it seemed as if trying to speak--gurgling,
hickupping, and sobbing, exactly like a human throat; he thought he
heard it sigh, too. By degrees it grew louder and louder; a gulping
sound followed, then a terrible scratching was heard, nearer and
nearer, and louder! Vendel trembled like an aspen leaf. At
last--hah!--at last, a fearful head appeared,--two eyes, two ears,
sharp teeth, a red tongue! higher and higher it came, struggling out
of the hole. One struggle more, and a terrible, wild-looking, dirty
creature, with sharp nails and shining eyes, rushed forth!
It was a water-rat!
"Saint Bartholomew, help!" cried the brewer; "it will eat me!"
And as the creature issued from the hole, a deluge rose after it,
squirting and bubbling; and in an instant the rat, Vendel, and his
residence were completely inundated.
The mystery may be thus explained. Some mischievous shepherd boys had
come to fill up the hole with water, and having found the entrance on
that side of the mound on which the forsaken shed stood, they had
brought water from a neighbouring pond in buckets, which they poured
down the hole; and, ignorant of its telegraphic theory, they cursed
the frogs for drinking all their water, while Vendel's residence was
undergoing an inundation at the other outlet of the rat's hole.
Meanwhile, the persecuted monster ran round the small shed, and not
finding any mode of exit, climbed up the reeds on all-fours, and had
just reached a hole which the wind had broken in the roof, when by
some unlucky chance it slipped back and fell--right on Vendel's nose!
Our readers may imagine the cry which burst from the lips of the
terrified man at this catastrophe: he kicked open the door with hands
and feet, and rolled out, making as great a tumult as if three
regiments of Turks had been behind him.
But the shepherd boys by no means took the matter in jest. Every one
for himself, they scampered off with terror-stricken countenances,
leaving buckets, tubs, and water-rat, and never paused till they
reached the village, where they immediately alarmed the inhabitants.
When Vendel had recovered from his panic, he began to reflect on the
probable consequences of this imprudent sally: he should now be
discovered, betrayed, and put in spirits. And this was the fate that
awaited him!
The unfortunate man crept up his hill of observation, and strained his
eyes towards the village. In a very short time his worst fears began
to be realized: a party of men, armed with pitchforks and scythes,
were evidently making for his place of concealment. To have remained
there longer would have been tempting Providence; and so the poor man
took up his mantle with great resignation, and sighing deeply,
wandered out into the fields of buck-wheat, where he lay down and
listened anxiously to the distant uproar with which the excited
villagers hunted the fearful spectre; and to this day the true legend
of the "earth-man" is told in the district.
When all was quiet, Vendel rose and withdrew farther from the
dangerous vicinity of his hut. For three whole days he wandered
through thorns and bushes, sleeping in the open air, and supporting
life with earth-nuts and maize. Three miserable fast days they were,
which deprived him of at least twenty pounds of bodily weight, but
certainly prolonged his life by three years! On the fourth day he
heard a great deal of firing at about a mile's distance, and at
intervals the sound of great guns. He even saw some of the balls
lazily rebounding from the ground at the end of their flight, and,
picking up one, he put it into his pocket in testimony of the battle
he had seen, and of all he had gone through during the war.
Towards noon, the firing ceased, and in the evening, as Vendel was
preparing to lie down under the shelter of a ridge of potatoes, a form
started from the treacherous wood beside him in pelisse and dolmany,
with a red csako, short boots, and a musket in his hand. He looked
about him--perhaps he was pursued, perhaps pursuing--he seemed
evidently in a dilemma of some kind; as he approached, however, Vendel
recognised Matyas Kormas, one of the noble proprietors of the
district--but in what a plight! He who had gone out with such zeal,
torn and covered with mud; his hair and moustache, wont to be so
stiffly waxed, hanging dolefully about his face, and his countenance
expressive of anxiety and alarm. Vendel was much relieved, however, to
see that there were no marks of blood about him; but his ardour seemed
considerably abated, and he by no means now looked as if he could
devour his enemies.
"Good evening, Vendel!" he exclaimed in a mild tone, on recognising
the brewer; "can you tell me in what direction the village lies?"
Vendel immediately offered to conduct him, thinking he might have a
better chance of safety by returning with an armed man, the whole
country being now unsafe.
"I only wanted to know in order that I might keep away from it,"
replied Matyas, "for the enemy occupy it at present; but let us get
down into the underwood, Vendel; we can hide there together."
"Then are they really such ferocious people?" asked Vendel anxiously.
"Hiai! my friend, you had better ask no questions--you never saw such
things! if we had not retreated, there would not have been a man of us
left! they have a peculiar way of holding their muskets, and never
miss a shot!"
"Why did you not hold yours the same way?" asked Vendel simply.
"Why, you see, Providence was against us; there is no firing against
that! Come, let us make a hole somewhere, and hide these arms; for if
they find out that I have come from the camp, I shall be taken
prisoner, and brought back again."
The two patriots hastened to gain that underground which stretches
from Cs---- to the Danube, in which they concealed themselves for a
whole day and a half, enduring all the glories and privations of war,
and encouraging one another through all their difficulties and
dangers. On the evening of the second day, however, our heroes were as
hungry as wolves, and had began to turn their thoughts to the
procuring food. Slowly and stealthily they left the wood, and, not far
from the outskirts, they descried a waggon lying overturned in one of
the cross roads.
Matyas, seeing that nobody was near it, broke a willow sapling from
the roadside, and, desiring Vendel to lie down on the ground and shut
his eyes, he rushed towards the deserted waggon, and attacked it with
great fury.
"Defend yourselves!--surrender! Who dares resist?" he cried, beating
the waggon with his wand; while Vendel, who lay with his face buried
in the grass, firmly believed that his friend had put to flight at
least three hundred Frenchmen! "The day is ours!" exclaimed Matyas at
last, returning flushed and triumphant from the strife; "let us seize
the spoil!"
If Vendel had hitherto any doubts as to the enemy's capacity for
digesting iron, they were entirely removed on his trying to bite the
bread taken from the waggon. They were obliged to steep it for two
days in the Danube; but they ate it for all that, and Vendel thought
he had never eaten anything with so good an appetite before.
At last, Heaven delivered our country from its scourge. When Napoleon
had seen the Miskolcz bread, the Debreczen honeycakes, the Vasvar
csakany,[75] the Kecskemet kulacs,[76] the Ugocsa horned-owls, and the
Comorn figs--without having obtained the chief object of his
enterprise in the person of Vendel-gazda--he returned home again with
his army; or, in other words, we drove them out of the country--which
is sacred truth, although envious historians wish to conceal it.
[Footnote 75: A wind instrument.]
[Footnote 76: A sort of wooden flask.]
When these glad tidings spread through the land, the woods and maize
fields began to be depopulated; and every one returned to his
ancestral abode, to relate his warlike adventures to his anxious
family, who listened with breathless interest as he described how he
had defended himself against at least thirty of the enemy, and carried
off their ammunition waggons; how a ball had been fired into his
breast, while he was only saved by a large silver button, and the
letters of nobility which he always carried about him; and finally,
how his musket, igniting in the heat of the battle, had burst into a
thousand pieces! These, and still more marvellous adventures, our
jovial ancestors recited after the war. Heaven bless them! if they had
allowed themselves to be shot, where should we have been now? and
without us--hm!
Among the rest, Matyas-ur and Vendel-gazda left their place of
concealment, and returned to the village; and indeed it was high time,
for they were both terribly pulled down, especially the brewer, who
was a mere shadow of his former self, and only resembled that
respectable personage as a dried pear does a green one. Moreover, such
was the tattered and dirty condition to which their wandering life had
reduced them, that they might have exhibited themselves with perfect
confidence at twentypence per head, _sub titulo_--Finns!
The danger once over, it was an easy matter for Matyas-ur. He had only
to go home to be recognised and welcomed at once; but with Vendel the
case was otherwise. As he reached his home, the sound of music and
dancing struck painfully on his ear. "Hm!" he thought, "they do not
seem to be mourning much for me!" He listened again, and heard the
noise of gay laughter and loud talking. At last he opened the door.
The large guest-room was full of gaily-dressed people, who were
crowded in every corner; while the space in the middle was occupied by
the dancers. With some difficulty, Vendel squeezed through the crowd,
and there, in the midst of all, was his beloved wife, with her cap on
one side, dancing with Andras-gazda, whose skin shone twice as much as
it was wont. Hanzli's subdued-looking face also appeared among the
crowd; but the youth was evidently out of spirits, and sat moody and
silent amidst the gay revellers. Meanwhile the beer and wine flowed
copiously, and the beneficent odour of all species of eatables
tantalized the nose of the hungry wanderer.
"Oh! unhappy man!" cried Vendel, clapping his hands together; that was
all he said--but how much was expressed in the words!--for a few
moments he gazed round him in silence. "Stop!" he roared at last,
stamping on the ground; on which his little dog came out from below
the table, and began barking at his sorely-tried master. _His own
poodle barked at him!_ "Who is this man?" exclaimed several of the
guests. "Where do you come from, countryman?" asked Andras-gazda.
"Give the poor wretch a glass of wine; he must be some beggar!" said
Mistress Vicza, adjusting her cap.
This was more than the exemplary patience of the Bohemian could bear.
"Hear, all of you!" he roared; "I am myself, and nobody else!"
One and all shook their heads. The voice was Vendel's, but the face,
the figure, none recognised.
"Not even you, Hanzli?" cried Vendel in despair; "not even you
remember me?"
Hanzli looked at him gravely, then grinned, then again stared
vacantly, without the slightest recognition.
"Ah, this is indeed desperate!" groaned the unfortunate man, as,
seizing one of the four-quart bottles of beer which stood on the
table, he emptied it at one draught; and this was his redemption. By
this means he was recognised at once; and "Vendel-batya!"
"Vendel-gazda!" "Nagyuram!" "Kisuram!" "Edes uram!"[77] resounded on
every side; while they all fell upon him, embraced, kissed him, and
led him out to dance. He was very well received indeed, and a little
explanation set everything to rights.
[Footnote 77: Great master, Little master, Dear master; these being
titles carefully distinguished from each other by the peasants.]
The cause of the feasting and merriment was Andras's wedding with
Panna, the little girl for whom he had fought with the hussar; which
solemnity was celebrated jointly with the retreat of the French; and
now that there was Vendel-gazda's miraculous return to rejoice at
besides, the festivities were kept up till late next morning.
Thus ended the trials and adventures of the brewer of B----; and from
this day forward, Heaven showered her blessings upon him; sons and
daughters grew up around him, some fair, and some dark, but all fat,
and each one finer and prettier than the other.