THE LEATHER-BELL.
We Magyars are very liberal in the distribution of nicknames, in this
respect, indeed, our fancy outruns that of the Princes of the Orient,
and the titles we bestow are even more appropriate than theirs.
In Hetfalu "Leather-bell" was the nickname of a peculiar man, whose real
name had quite slipped out of everybody's memory. This derisive epithet
was given to him by the housewives to whom he used to convey all the
local gossip, to wit: who it was who died to-day, where he was going to
be buried, whose turn it was to work for the castle this day or that,
who was doing the rector's cooking for him, &c, &c, &c. This was the
name he went by throughout the parish when he went about telling
everybody in which house there was going to be a birth, a marriage, or a
funeral; who was in need of the last sacraments, or how much wine the
squire gave for the use of the Lord's Table. This was the title by which
he was greeted at the castle, where he religiously presented himself to
inform the good folks there where serviceable domestics could be got, or
where anything was to be sold, or what were the current prices of corn
and poultry. He himself was half the servant of the gentry, and half the
servant of the community; nay, he belonged somewhat to the village
priest also, and indeed to any good fellow who had a glass of beer to
offer him. He was perpetually scurrying from house to house, from the
local magistrate's residence to the market-place, from the market-place
to the castle, from the castle to the parsonage, from the parsonage to
the miller's, the pot-house, and the tavern, thence into the fields, and
thence again into the courtyards. He would pick up something here and
something there, something he might, perhaps, have heard at the church
porch or up in the belfry; or something would catch his ear as he was
dawdling among the waggons on a market-day, and he would immediately run
and repeat it at the miller's. By the time he had reached the pot-house
he would hear his own invention, already well amplified and nicely
embellished, circulating from mouth to mouth as an absolute fact.
Whereupon he would dash off with this enlarged edition of it to the
castle, stopping, however, to tell it to every living soul he met on the
way with all the variations which struck him as most appropriate on the
spur of the moment, so that he really well-earned the epithet of
"Leather-bell," inasmuch as he was performing all the functions of a
bell, and, nevertheless was covered with a coat of skin or leather.[17]
[Footnote 17: The Hungarian word "boer" means both skin and leather.]
On this particular momentous evening, the Leather-bell, all
hurry-scurry, rushed into the porch of the castle, where the old lord of
the manor was nursing his invalided limbs in an ample easy chair, having
so disposed himself as to be able to command a view of the western sky,
still lit up by the faint hues of sunset.
Once upon a time the Leather-bell must have been a tall man, but
excessive salutations had so bent his back, and an incessant to-ing and
fro-ing had given his head such a forward inclination, that whoever
beheld him now for the first time must needs have suspected him of an
intention to run straight under the table incontinently. He was the very
image of obsequiousness, and he presented his back to the world as
though he would say: "Smite away at it whoever has a mind to."
Old Hetfalusy liked to see the man. He had leave to come and go whenever
he chose. He was free to relate serious matters with a smiling face, and
amusing incidents in a whining voice, especially as the points of all
the jokes generally turned against himself.
"I kiss your honour's hand," said the Leather-bell, depositing his hat
and stick in the doorway. "I kiss your hand (and kiss it he did there
and then). How frightfully hot it is outside, and oh! what a lot of
dust. Those boors are always routing it up with their ox-waggons. They
_make_ all the dust, I do believe. My throat is full of it, and it lies
heavy on my chest. Oh no! I humbly thank your honour! Don't put
yourself about! I'll not have a drink. Yes, I really mean it. I didn't
say I was thirsty on that account. Wine does not suit my constitution at
this time of day. Besides, to tell you the truth, I have had some
already. For how else could I endure this terrible heat and this
horrible dust. It weighed so upon my chest that I was obliged to look in
at Samsi's tavern for an instant. Oh no! I assure you I did not go there
on that account. I only wanted to have a word or two with my good friend
the magistrate. He was not there, it is true, but instead of him I found
the sworn jurors, Spletyko and Hamza, and a couple of peasants, who
thereupon seized and offered me some brandy to drink. Your honour will
graciously understand that I don't like brandy very much, my
constitution won't stand it, and then it was only the afternoon, and it
is not wholesome to drink so early. So, says I, thank you, but I won't
take any, whereupon every man jack of them fell fiercely upon me. 'Oh,
ho!' they cried, 'so you too have already been primed what to drink and
what not to drink, eh? So they have told you that the brandy has been
poisoned, eh?'
"'What do you mean?' I cried.
"'The brandy is poisoned.'
"'Who has poisoned it?'
"'Who but the bigwigs themselves.'
"'Fire and flames! here goes!' I shouted in my horror, and forthwith,
just to show my indignation, I seized and emptied every glass I could
get hold of one after the other.
"'Poison, eh!' says I, 'poison! how can it be poison if I drink it? I'm
as alive as ever I was, ain't I?'
"'Well,' says that squinting blockhead Hamza, 'if there's no poison in
that cask there is in the other, so draw us some out of that, Samsi!'
"But Samsi durst not leave the room, he made out that an ague was
shaking him, so his wife went instead of him down into the cellar in the
presence of the two sworn jurors, and brought a sample for tasting out
of every cask. I assure your honour it was very hard upon me, for brandy
does not suit me at all, yet, out of gratitude to your honour, I drank
all this new stuff likewise. It is a marvel to me that I didn't grovel
on the ground and root up the earth with my nose, so much did I drink.
"'Well,' cried I, 'should I not be dead by this time if there was really
poison in it?'
"All that squinting Hamza could say in reply was:
"'Well, if there's none in to-day there will be some in to-morrow.'
"'Very well,' says I, 'I will come to-morrow also, and the day after
to-morrow likewise; and, in fact, every day, and I'll taste every one of
your drinks, one after the other, and show you that I'm none the worse.'
"Those were my very words. And I'll do it too, your honour, that I will,
although it will be very hard upon me, for I can't abide spirits. But I
won't allow your honour's noble family, to whom I owe so much, to be
maligned by any pack of boors in the world."
Old Hetfalusy let the Leather-bell rattle on, perhaps he did not even
listen to him. He paid as little attention to the tongue of the
Leather-bell as he did to the clapper of the bell that hung in the
church tower, perhaps less. For, indeed, in the solemn sonorous
ding-dong, ding-dong of the church bell, those who have ears to hear,
and still preserve memories of the past, may recognise the voices of the
dead telling them all manner of mysterious things.
The brilliant exposition of the Leather-bell was interrupted by the
arrival of Dr. Sarkantyus, who drove into the courtyard in a wretched
chaise, dragged along by a couple of rustic nags, and immediately
hastened up to the Squire.
The Leather-bell hastened forthwith to the chaise in order to take out
the doctor's things, and as it was his ambition to load himself with as
many boxes and packages as he could seize upon before the arrival of the
domestic heydukes, he managed in his excess of zeal to drop three of the
parcels on to the ground, one of which immediately burst asunder, and a
stream of whitish powder poured forth upon the marble floor.
The doctor turned upon him furiously.
"Am I not always telling you not to load yourself so much? You see the
result, all my bismuth powder wasted."
"I'll soon pick it all up again," said the Leather-bell submissively,
and going down on his hambones he began sweeping into the palm of his
hand what had been spilt and putting it back with the rest.
At this the doctor was ready to thrash him on the spot.
"What! mix what is all full of dust with what is still pure--go to the
devil!"
"I humbly crave your pardon, doctor, but wouldn't it do for the cattle?"
asked the mischief-maker with an obsequious smile.
"Cattle indeed! Does the fellow suppose I carry about drugs for pigs and
oxen."
"I mean there's so much of it."
"None too much for such cattle as you, but now what has been spilt must
be swept away."
And the doctor snatched the damaged box from the fellow's hands, and
hastened into the house with it.
The Leather-bell remained kneeling on the ground, staring amazedly with
foolish, wide-open eyes at the spilt powder. Then he moistened the tip
of his index-finger in his mouth, and dipping it gingerly in the powder,
transferred a tiny morsel thereof to the tip of his tongue, and
instantly fell expectorating in every direction. At last he frantically
scraped a good bit of it together, drew his handkerchief from his
breast-pocket, shovelled a portion of the suspicious substance into it,
looking round cautiously all the time in case anyone should see him,
then shuffled out of the hall, departed from the courtyard by way of the
garden, and, once free of the house, set off running rapidly towards
the inn on the outskirts of the village, as if the most fleet-footed of
horrors were behind him, his head, as usual, being a good yard or so in
advance of his feet.
When he entered the tavern it never once struck him how very calm and
peaceful it happened to be there at that particular moment. Mr. Martin
Csicseri, the village justice, was sitting at the head of the table, and
before him on the table lay his long hazel stick.
"I wish you a very good evening, my dear Mr. Justice and good Mr.
Comrade, if I may make so free. 'Tis a good job you are here. And where
may Hamza and Spletyko be?"
The village justice regarded him angrily.
"They are in a very good place where they will do no mischief--the
stocks."
"Really? Well, they will certainly be well looked after there. All the
same it is a great shame they are not here just now." Then, lowering his
voice mysteriously, he added: "Well, my honoured comrade, I myself can
now say that it is all up with us."
"How is it all up with us?" inquired Martin Csicseri, leaning both
elbows heavily on the table.
"Oh, it's all up with us in every way, all up, all up!" wailed the
Leather-bell, rapidly pacing up and down the room, and pressing his head
betwixt his hands. "It is all up with the whole village."
"Will you tell me how it is all up with us, you old woman, you. Are you
aware that this stick has an end to it, and I am very much inclined to
give it some work to do on your back this instant?"
The fellow made as if he would simply answer the justice's question, yet
all the while he kept glancing about him timidly, till five or six
inquisitive rustics had also gathered around him, only then did he
exclaim in a strident whisper: "The poison has already arrived!"
"You're a fool!" cried the justice, starting back as he spoke.
"I am not. I have seen and tasted it, and I have brought some of it with
me. The doctor himself admitted that the county authorities had sent a
large trunk of poison hither, and were going to make us drink it. The
box was in my hand. I lifted it down from the carriage. Divine
Providence so ordered that it fell from my hands, and a whitish powder
poured out of it. The whole box was full of that powder. The doctor was
horribly frightened, and swore at me like anything for my clumsiness. I
_saw_ him, I tell you, he grew quite yellow. I merely asked whether this
medicine might not be for the cattle, but he savagely snatched it from
my hand, and said he would make our heads ache with it."
"Is that true?" asked a terrified boor on the other side of the table.
"As true as I'm alive. The doctor immediately ordered the domestics to
sweep the spilt powder away lest one of the animals should taste it and
perish instantly; but I managed to scrape together a little of it
first, and here it is in the corner of my handkerchief."
And the Leather-bell undid his handkerchief and poured the powder out
upon the table.
The boors, with the fearful inquisitiveness of professed connoisseurs,
carefully regarded the strange awe-inspiring powder from every side--so
this was the murderous instrument of extirpation.
Some of them had heard, somewhere or other, that it was usual to make
preliminary experiments with such poisons on the brute-beasts. One of
them accordingly smeared a piece of bread with the powder, and offered
it to a large shepherd's dog extended at his ease beneath the table. The
dog sniffed at the morsel but would not touch it.
"Poison! poison!" cried those who stood around full of horror.
"Didn't I say so!" cried the Leather-bell, with a radiant face; but his
joyful triumph was very speedily embittered, for when he least expected
such a distinction, he became sensible that the long hazel cudgel of the
village justice was unmercifully belabouring his back and shoulders.
"You good-for-nothing, lying wind-bag you, how dare you calumniate your
own landlord? You hound of the whole village, you! that barks at every
man behind his back, and licks his hand when he faces you. You dare to
come hither with such idle stories at a time when there's already far
too much discord among the people! You good-for-nothing vagabond! What!
I suppose you want the peasant folks to beat the landlords to death,
burn their castles to the ground, and rob them of everything? Coward and
rebel as you are, the gallows-tree is far too good for you. I tell you
what it is. I'll put you in irons and send you to the county jail, and
there you may sit till your turn comes to stand before the judges. You
incendiary, you!"
The Leather-bell was thoroughly scared, he began to hedge.
"Alas! my dear sweet Mr. Justice, and my good friend, don't be angry!
God bless me! Why should I wish our landlord beaten to death? God
preserve us from anything so dreadful."
"Who are you aiming at then?"
"I? Nobody at all. Not for all the world would I injure anyone. Oh, dear
no! I only opened my mouth in order that every poor mother's son of us
might look out for himself and guard himself, that's all."
"Guard himself!--from what?"
"From danger."
"And who told you there was any danger here? Don't you know that the
doctor has a long way to go, and many people to cure, and must therefore
carry a great many drugs along with him? And you, you senseless ass!
dropped one of his medicine boxes, spilt the contents, and instantly
jumped at the conclusion that it was poison! Poison! your grandmother!
It is true, no doubt, that if a man in health takes medicine he will
have stomach-ache for his pains, but if he be sick the same medicine
will cure him. Every fool knows that. Drugs are not good to eat."
A couple of the more sensible peasants murmured approvingly behind him.
The Leather-bell stood confounded before the magistrate, and made a sort
of downward movement with his hat as if he would have liked to scatter
to the winds the little bit of powder still lying on the table.
"And now tell me, you seditious idiot, what might not have happened if
these honest men here had not had their wits about them? What if they
had believed the horrible accusation spread by you and a few more
vagabond busybodies of the same kidney? What if in their mad terror they
had fallen foul of your young landlord, who has done you so much good,
and shot him dead before your eyes? What if they had dragged his father,
the old squire, out of bed in his nightshirt, and burnt him to death?
What would you have done then, you good-for-nothing? I suppose you would
have sharpened the knife that cut their throats?"
The knees of the Leather-bell smote together; he stammered piteously
that he had had no idea that such horrible things would follow from what
he said, that he had, in fact, not been thinking at all of what he was
saying.
"Well, you will have plenty of time to think it over when you are
sitting in the county jail."
The Leather-bell begged and prayed that he might not be sent there,
rather shove him in the stocks alongside Hamza. He admitted that he
deserved it; but if they liked to give him twenty or thirty blows with a
stick instead, he would take it kindly of them. He had meant no harm,
and he would never spread any more such rumours.
Meanwhile, no one had remarked that the tap-room had gradually been
filling with silent, savage-looking forms, one of whom, while listening
attentively to the conversation, began sweeping the suspicious-looking
powder into the palm of his hand.
Mr. Martin Csicseri was so far moved by the piteous lamentations of the
Leather-bell as to promise not to cast him into irons and send him to
the county jail as a fomenter of sedition.
"But you shall, at any rate, sit in the stocks till morning, my friend!"
added he. "Hie, you sworn jurymen, come forward and convey him thither."
"Nay, not that man!" cried a voice from the crowd, and the magistrate
beheld Thomas Bodza advancing towards him--by the side of the long
table.
"Whom then?" cried he.
"Whom but yourself!" exclaimed Numa Pompilius, accompanying his words
with the gesture of a Roman Senator.
For the moment it occurred to the magistrate that the worthy rector who
was not, as a rule, addicted to strong drink, had actually, for once,
taken more of the noble juice of the grape than was quite good for him,
so he simply laughed at him. All the more astonished, therefore, was he
when, at a sign from the master, two strange men rushed upon him and
seized his hands fast.
He had never seen their faces before, they were men who did not belong
to the village.
"What's the meaning of this, eh?" he thundered, giving one of them a
rattling box on the ear and knocking the other down. It was of no use.
Ten at least instantly threw themselves upon him, seized his hands and
feet, threw him to the ground and bound him fast. One or two of his
acquaintances tried to defend him but were thrust aside.
So long as the tussle lasted, Thomas Bodza stood upon the table with the
pose of a capitoline statue, whence he exclaimed in a dictatorial voice:
"It is now for me to command."
The pinioned magistrate continued to curse and swear, and threaten the
rioters till they shoved a gag into his mouth. As for the Leather-bell,
he hid himself behind the fireplace partly to avoid blows, partly from a
fear that this business would have unpleasant consequences, and he might
be called upon to give evidence. He wanted neither to hear nor see
anything more.