CHAPTER XXXV
The Leave-taking—Spirit of the Hearth—What’s o’Clock?
The next morning, having breakfasted with my old friend, I went into the stable to make the necessary preparations for my departure; there, with the assistance of a stable lad, I cleaned and caparisoned my horse, and then, returning into the house, I made the old female attendant such a present as I deemed would be some compensation for the trouble I had caused. Hearing that the old gentleman was in his study, I repaired to him. “I am come to take leave of you,” said I, “and to thank you for all the hospitality which I have received at your hands.” The eyes of the old man were fixed steadfastly on the inscription which I had found him studying on a former occasion. “At length,” he murmured to himself, “I have it—I think I have it;” and then, looking at me, he said, “So you are about to depart?”
“Yes,” said I, “my horse will be at the front door in a few minutes; I am glad, however, before I go, to find that you have mastered the inscription.”
“Yes,” said the old man, “I believe I have mastered it; it seems to consist of some verses relating to the worship of the Spirit of the Hearth.”
“What is the Spirit of the Hearth?” said I.
“One of the many demons which the Chinese worship,” said the old man; “they do not worship one God, but many.” And then the old man told me a great many highly-interesting particulars respecting the demon worship of the Chinese.
After the lapse of at least half an hour I said, “I must not linger here any longer, however willing. Horncastle is distant, and I wish to be there to-night. Pray can you inform me what’s o’clock?”
The old man, rising, looked towards the clock which hung on the side of the room at his left hand, on the farther side of the table at which he was seated.
“I am rather short-sighted,” said I, “and cannot distinguish the number, at that distance.”
“It is ten o’clock,” said the old man; “I believe somewhat past.”
“A quarter, perhaps?”
“Yes,” said the old man “a quarter or—”
“Or?”
“Seven minutes, or ten minutes past ten.”
“I do not understand you.”
“Why, to tell you the truth,” said the old man, with a smile, “there is one thing to the knowledge of which I could never exactly attain.”
“Do you mean to say,” said I, “that you do not know what’s o’clock?”
“I can give a guess,” said the old man, “to within a few minutes.”
“But you cannot tell the exact moment?”
“No,” said the old man.
“In the name of wonder,” said I, “with that thing there on the wall continually ticking in your ear, how comes it that you do not know what’s o’clock?”
“Why,” said the old man, “I have contented myself with giving a tolerably good guess; to do more would have been too great trouble.”
“But you have learnt Chinese,” said I.
“Yes,” said the old man, “I have learnt Chinese.”
“Well,” said I, “I really would counsel you to learn to know what’s o’clock as soon as possible. Consider what a sad thing it would be to go out of the world not knowing what’s o’clock. A millionth part of the trouble required to learn Chinese would, if employed, infallibly teach you to know what’s o’clock.”
“I had a motive for learning Chinese,” said the old man, “the hope of appeasing the misery in my head. With respect to not knowing what’s o’clock, I cannot see anything particularly sad in the matter. A man may get through the world very creditably without knowing what’s o’clock. Yet, upon the whole, it is no bad thing to know what’s o’clock—you, of course, do? It would be too good a joke if two people were to be together, one knowing Armenian and the other Chinese, and neither knowing what’s o’clock. I’ll now see you off.”
CHAPTER XXXVI
Arrival at Horncastle—The Inn and Ostlers—The Garret—Figure of a Man with a Candle.
Leaving the house of the old man who knew Chinese, but could not tell what was o’clock, I wended my way to Horncastle, which I reached in the evening of the same day, without having met any adventure on the way worthy of being marked down in this very remarkable history.
The town was a small one, seemingly ancient, and was crowded with people and horses. I proceeded, without delay, to the inn to which my friend the surgeon had directed me. “It is of no use coming here,” said two or three ostlers, as I entered the yard—“all full—no room whatever;” whilst one added in an undertone, “That ere a’n’t a bad-looking horse.” “I want to see the master of this inn,” said I, as I dismounted from the horse. “See the master,” said an ostler—the same who had paid the negative kind of compliment to the horse—“a likely thing, truly; my master is drinking wine with some of the grand gentry, and can’t be disturbed for the sake of the like of you.” “I bring a letter to him,” said I, pulling out the surgeon’s epistle. “I wish you would deliver it to him,” I added, offering a half-crown. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” said the ostler, taking the letter and the half-crown; “my master will be right glad to see you; why, you ha’n’t been here for many a year; I’ll carry the note to him at once.” And with these words he hurried into the house. “That’s a nice horse, young man,” said another ostler, “what will you take for it?” to which interrogation I made no answer. “If you wish to sell him,” said the ostler, coming up to me, and winking knowingly, “I think I and my partners might offer you a summut under seventy pounds;” to which kind and half-insinuated offer I made no reply, save by winking in the same kind of knowing manner in which I observed him wink. “Rather leary!” said a third ostler. “Well, young man, perhaps you will drink to-night with me and my partners, when we can talk the matter over.” Before I had time to answer, the landlord, a well-dressed, good-looking man, made his appearance with the ostler; he bore the letter in his hand. Without glancing at me, he betook himself at once to consider the horse, going round him, and observing every point with the utmost minuteness. At last, having gone round the horse three times, he stopped beside me, and keeping his eyes on the horse, bent his head towards his right shoulder. “That horse is worth some money,” said he, turning towards me suddenly, and slightly touching me on the arm with the letter which he held in his hand; to which observation I made no reply, save by bending my head towards the right shoulder as I had seen him do. “The young man is going to talk to me and my partners about it to-night,” said the ostler who had expressed an opinion that he and his friends might offer me somewhat under seventy pounds for the animal. “Pooh!” said the landlord, “the young man knows what he is about; in the meantime lead the horse to the reserved stall, and see well after him. My friend,” said he, taking me aside after the ostler had led the animal away, “recommends you to me in the strongest manner, on which account alone I take you and your horse in. I need not advise you not to be taken in, as I should say, by your look, that you are tolerably awake; but there are queer hands at Horncastle at this time, and those fellows of mine, you understand me—; but I have a great deal to do at present, so you must excuse me.” And thereupon went into the house.
That same evening I was engaged at least two hours in the stable, in rubbing the horse down, and preparing him for the exhibition which I intended he should make in the fair on the following day. The ostler, to whom I had given the half-crown, occasionally assisted me, though he was too much occupied by the horses of other guests to devote any length of time to the service of mine; he more than once repeated to me his firm conviction that himself and partners could afford to offer me summut for the horse; and at a later hour when, in compliance with his invitation, I took a glass of summut with himself and partners, in a little room surrounded with corn-chests, on which we sat, both himself and partners endeavoured to impress upon me, chiefly by means of nods and winks, their conviction that they could afford to give me summut for the horse, provided I were disposed to sell him; in return for which intimation, with as many nods and winks as they had all collectively used, I endeavoured to impress upon them my conviction that I could get summut handsomer in the fair than they might be disposed to offer me, seeing as how—which how I followed by a wink and a nod, which they seemed perfectly to understand, one or two of them declaring that if the case was so, it made a great deal of difference, and that they did not wish to be any hindrance to me, more particularly as it was quite clear I had been an ostler like themselves.
It was late at night when I began to think of retiring to rest. On inquiring if there was any place in which I could sleep, I was informed that there was a bed at my service, provided I chose to sleep in a two-bedded room, one of the beds of which was engaged by another gentleman. I expressed my satisfaction at this arrangement, and was conducted by a maid-servant up many pairs of stairs to a garret, in which were two small beds, in one of which she gave me to understand another gentleman slept; he had, however, not yet retired to rest; I asked who he was, but the maid-servant could give me no information about him, save that he was a highly respectable gentleman, and a friend of her master’s. Presently, bidding me good night, she left me with a candle; and I, having undressed myself and extinguished the light, went to bed. Notwithstanding the noises which sounded from every part of the house, I was not slow in falling asleep, being thoroughly tired. I know not how long I might have been in bed, perhaps two hours, when I was partially awakened by a light shining upon my face, whereupon, unclosing my eyes, I perceived the figure of a man, with a candle in one hand, staring at my face, whilst with the other hand, he held back the curtain of the bed. As I have said before, I was only partially awakened, my power of conception was consequently very confused; it appeared to me, however, that the man was dressed in a green coat; that he had curly brown or black hair, and that there was something peculiar in his look. Just as I was beginning to recollect myself, the curtain dropped, and I heard, or thought I heard, a voice say, “Don’t know the cove.” Then there was a rustling like a person undressing, whereupon being satisfied that it was my fellow-lodger, I dropped asleep, but was awakened again by a kind of heavy plunge upon the other bed, which caused it to rock and creak, when I observed that the light had been extinguished, probably blown out, if I might judge from a rather disagreeable smell of burnt wick which remained in the room, and which kept me awake till I heard my companion breathing hard, when, turning on the other side, I was again once more speedily in the arms of slumber.
CHAPTER XXXVII
Horncastle Fair.
It had been my intention to be up and doing early on the following morning, but my slumbers proved so profound, that I did not wake until about eight; on arising, I again found myself the sole occupant of the apartment, my more alert companion having probably risen at a much earlier hour. Having dressed myself, I descended, and going to the stable, found my horse under the hands of my friend the ostler, who was carefully rubbing him down. “There a’n’t a better horse in the fair,” said he to me, “and as you are one of us, and appear to be all right, I’ll give you a piece of advice—don’t take less than a hundred and fifty for him; if you mind your hits, you may get it, for I have known two hundred given in this fair for one no better, if so good.” “Well,” said I, “thank you for your advice, which I will take, and, if successful, will give you ‘summut’ handsome.” “Thank you,” said the ostler; “and now let me ask whether you are up to all the ways of this here place?” “I have never been here before,” said I, “but I have a pair of tolerably sharp eyes in my head.” “That I see you have,” said the ostler, “but many a body, with as sharp a pair of eyes as yourn, has lost his horse in this fair, for want of having been here before, therefore,” said he, “I’ll give you a caution or two.” Thereupon the ostler proceeded to give me at least half a dozen cautions, only two of which I shall relate to the reader:—the first, not to stop to listen to what any chance customer might have to say; and the last—the one on which he appeared to lay most stress—by no manner of means to permit a Yorkshireman to get up into the saddle, “for,” said he, “if you do, it is three to one that he rides off with the horse; he can’t help it; trust a cat amongst cream, but never trust a Yorkshireman on the saddle of a good horse; by-the-by,” he continued, “that saddle of yours is not a particularly good one, no more is the bridle. I tell you what, as you seem a decent kind of a young chap, I’ll lend you a saddle and bridle of my master’s, almost bran new; he won’t object, I know, as you are a friend of his, only you must not forget your promise to come down with summut handsome after you have sold the animal.”
After a slight breakfast I mounted the horse, which, decked out in his borrowed finery, really looked better by a large sum of money than on any former occasion. Making my way out of the yard of the inn, I was instantly in the principal street of the town, up and down which an immense number of horses were being exhibited, some led, and others with riders. “A wonderful small quantity of good horses in the fair this time!” I heard a stout jockey-looking individual say, who was staring up the street with his side towards me. “Halloo, young fellow!” said he, a few moments after I had passed, “whose horse is that? Stop! I want to look at him!” Though confident that he was addressing himself to me, I took no notice, remembering the advice of the ostler, and proceeded up the street. My horse possessed a good walking step; but walking, as the reader knows, was not his best pace, which was the long trot, at which I could not well exercise him in the street, on account of the crowd of men and animals; however, as he walked along, I could easily perceive that he attracted no slight attention amongst those who, by their jockey dress and general appearance, I imagined to be connoisseurs; I heard various calls to stop, to none of which I paid the slightest attention. In a few minutes I found myself out of the town, when, turning round for the purpose of returning, I found I had been followed by several of the connoisseur-looking individuals, whom I had observed in the fair. “Now would be the time for a display,” thought I; and looking around me I observed two five-barred gates, one on each side of the road, and fronting each other. Turning my horse’s head to one, I pressed my heels to his sides, loosened the reins, and gave an encouraging cry, whereupon the animal cleared the gate in a twinkling. Before he had advanced ten yards in the field to which the gate opened, I had turned him round, and again giving him cry and rein, I caused him to leap back again into the road, and still allowing him head, I made him leap the other gate; and forthwith turning him round, I caused him to leap once more into the road, where he stood proudly tossing his head, as much as to say, “What more?” “A fine horse! a capital horse!” said several of the connoisseurs. “What do you ask for him?” “Too much for any of you to pay,” said I. “A horse like this is intended for other kind of customers than any of you.” “How do you know that?” said one; the very same person whom I had heard complaining in the street of the paucity of good horses in the fair. “Come, let us know what you ask for him?” “A hundred and fifty pounds!” said I; “neither more nor less.” “Do you call that a great price?” said the man. “Why, I thought you would have asked double that amount! You do yourself injustice, young man.” “Perhaps I do,” said I, “but that’s my affair; I do not choose to take more.” “I wish you would let me get into the saddle,” said the man; “the horse knows you, and therefore shows to more advantage; but I should like to see how he would move under me, who am a stranger. Will you let me get into the saddle, young man?” “No,” said I; “I will not let you get into the saddle.” “Why not?” said the man. “Lest you should be a Yorkshireman,” said I; “and should run away with the horse.” “Yorkshire?” said the man; “I am from Suffolk; silly Suffolk—so you need not be afraid of my running away with the horse.” “Oh! if that’s the case,” said I, “I should be afraid that the horse would run away with you; so I will by no means let you mount.” “Will you let me look in his mouth?” said the man. “If you please,” said I; “but I tell you, he’s apt to bite.” “He can scarcely be a worse bite than his master,” said the man, looking into the horse’s mouth; “he’s four off. I say, young man, will you warrant this horse?” “No,” said I; “I never warrant horses; the horses that I ride can always warrant themselves.” “I wish you would let me speak a word to you,” said he. “Just come aside. It’s a nice horse,” said he, in a half whisper, after I had ridden a few paces aside with him. “It’s a nice horse,” said he, placing his hand upon the pommel of the saddle, and looking up in my face, “and I think I can find you a customer. If you would take a hundred, I think my lord would purchase it, for he has sent me about the fair to look him up a horse, by which he could hope to make an honest penny.” “Well,” said I, “and could he not make an honest penny, and yet give me the price I ask?” “Why,” said the go-between, “a hundred and fifty pounds is as much as the animal is worth, or nearly so; and my lord, do you see—” “I see no reason at all,” said I, “why I should sell the animal for less than he is worth, in order that his lordship may be benefited by him; so that if his lordship wants to make an honest penny, he must find some person who would consider the disadvantage of selling him a horse for less than it is worth, as counterbalanced by the honour of dealing with a lord, which I should never do; but I can’t be wasting my time here. I am going back to the ---, where, if you, or any person, are desirous of purchasing the horse, you must come within the next half hour, or I shall probably not feel disposed to sell him at all.” “Another word, young man,” said the jockey; but without staying to hear what he had to say, I put the horse to his best trot, and re-entering the town, and threading my way as well as I could through the press, I returned to the yard of the inn, where, dismounting, I stood still, holding the horse by the bridle.
I had been standing in this manner about five minutes, when I saw the jockey enter the yard, accompanied by another individual. They advanced directly towards me. “Here is my lord come to look at the horse, young man,” said the jockey. My lord, as the jockey called him, was a tall figure, of about five-and-thirty. He had on his head a hat somewhat rusty, and on his back a surtout of blue rather the worse for wear. His forehead, if not high, was exceedingly narrow; his eyes were brown, with a rat-like glare in them; the nose was rather long, and the mouth very wide; the cheek-bones high, and the cheeks, as to hue and consistency, exhibiting very much the appearance of a withered red apple; there was a gaunt expression of hunger in the whole countenance. He had scarcely glanced at the horse, when drawing in his cheeks, he thrust out his lips very much after the manner of a baboon, when he sees a piece of sugar held out towards him. “Is this horse yours?” said he, suddenly turning towards me, with a kind of smirk. “It’s my horse,” said I; “are you the person who wishes to make an honest penny by it?” “How!” said he, drawing up his head with a very consequential look, and speaking with a very haughty tone, “what do you mean?” We looked at each other full in the face; after a few moments, the muscles of the mouth of him of the hungry look began to move violently, the face was puckered into innumerable wrinkles, and the eyes became half closed. “Well,” said I, “have you ever seen me before? I suppose you are asking yourself that question.” “Excuse me, sir,” said he, dropping his lofty look, and speaking in a very subdued and civil tone, “I have never had the honour of seeing you before, that is”—said he, slightly glancing at me again, and again moving the muscles of his mouth, “no, I have never seen you before,” he added, making me a bow. “I have never had that pleasure; my business with you, at present, is to inquire the lowest price you are willing to take for this horse. My agent here informs me that you ask one hundred and fifty pounds, which I cannot think of giving—the horse is a showy horse, but look, my dear sir, he has a defect here, and there in his near fore leg I observe something which looks very like a splint—yes, upon my credit,” said he, touching the animal, “he has a splint, or something which will end in one. A hundred and fifty pounds, sir! what could have induced you ever to ask anything like that for this animal? I protest that, in my time, I have frequently bought a better for— Who are you, sir? I am in treaty for this horse,” said he to a man who had come up whilst he was talking, and was now looking into the horse’s mouth. “Who am I?” said the man, still looking into the horse’s mouth; “who am I? his lordship asks me. Ah, I see, close on five,” said he, releasing the horse’s jaws, and looking at me. This new comer was a thin, wiry-made individual, with wiry curling brown hair; his face was dark, and wore an arch and somewhat roguish expression; upon one of his eyes was a kind of speck or beam; he might be about forty, wore a green jockey coat, and held in his hand a black riding whip, with a knob of silver wire. As I gazed upon his countenance, it brought powerfully to my mind the face which, by the light of the candle, I had seen staring over me on the preceding night, when lying in bed and half asleep. Close beside him, and seemingly in his company, stood an exceedingly tall figure, that of a youth, seemingly about one-and-twenty, dressed in a handsome riding dress, and wearing on his head a singular hat, green in colour, and with a very high peak. “What do you ask for this horse?” said he of the green coat, winking at me with the eye which had a beam in it, whilst the other shone and sparkled like Mrs. Colonel W-’s Golconda diamond. “Who are you, sir, I demand once more?” said he of the hungry look. “Who am I? why, who should I be but Jack Dale, who buys horses for himself and other folk; I want one at present for this short young gentleman,” said he, motioning with his finger to the gigantic youth. “Well, sir,” said the other, “and what business have you to interfere between me and any purchase I may be disposed to make?” “Well, then,” said the other, “be quick and purchase the horse, or, perhaps, I may.” “Do you think I am to be dictated to by a fellow of your description?” said his lordship, “begone, or—” “What do you ask for this horse?” said the other to me, very coolly. “A hundred and fifty,” said I. “I shouldn’t mind giving it to you,” said he. “You will do no such thing,” said his lordship, speaking so fast that he almost stuttered. “Sir,” said he to me, “I must give you what you ask; Symmonds, take possession of the animal for me,” said he to the other jockey who attended him. “You will please to do no such thing without my consent,” said I, “I have not sold him.” “I have this moment told you that I will give you the price you demand,” said his lordship; “is not that sufficient?” “No,” said I, “there is a proper manner of doing everything—had you come forward in a manly and gentlemanly manner to purchase the horse, I should have been happy to sell him to you, but after all the fault you have found with him, I would not sell him to you at any price, so send your friend to find up another.” “You behave in this manner, I suppose,” said his lordship, “because this fellow has expressed a willingness to come to your terms. I would advise you to be cautious how you trust the animal in his hands; I think I have seen him before, and could tell you—” “What can you tell of me?” said the other, going up to him; “except that I have been a poor dicky-boy, and that now I am a dealer in horses, and that my father was lagged; that’s all you could tell of me, and that I don’t mind telling myself: but there are two things they can’t say of me, they can’t say that I am either a coward or a screw either, except so far as one who gets his bread by horses may be expected to be; and they can’t say of me that I ever ate up an ice which a young woman was waiting for, or that I ever backed out of a fight. Horse!” said he, motioning with his finger tauntingly to the other; “what do you want with a horse, except to take the bread out of the mouth of a poor man—to-morrow is not the battle of Waterloo, so that you don’t want to back out of danger, by pretending to have hurt yourself by falling from the creature’s back, my lord of the white feather—come, none of your fierce looks—I am not afraid of you.” In fact, the other had assumed an expression of the deadliest malice, his teeth were clenched, his lips quivered, and were quite pale; the rat-like eyes sparkled, and he made a half spring, à la rat, towards his adversary, who only laughed. Restraining himself, however, he suddenly turned to his understrapper, saying, “Symmonds, will you see me thus insulted? go and trounce this scoundrel; you can, I know.” “Symmonds trounce me!” said the other, going up to the person addressed, and drawing his hand contemptuously over his face; “why, I beat Symmonds in this very yard in one round three years ago; didn’t I, Symmonds?” said he to the understrapper, who held down his head, muttering, in a surly tone, “I didn’t come here to fight; let every one take his own part.” “That’s right, Symmonds,” said the other, “especially every one from whom there is nothing to be got. I would give you half-a-crown for all the trouble you have had, provided I were not afraid that my Lord Plume there would get it from you as soon as you leave the yard together. Come, take yourselves both off; there’s nothing to be made here.” Indeed, his lordship seemed to be of the same opinion, for after a further glance at the horse, a contemptuous look at me, and a scowl at the jockey, he turned on his heel, muttering something which sounded like fellows, and stalked out of the yard, followed by Symmonds.
“And now, young man,” said the jockey, or whatever he was, turning to me with an arch leer, “I suppose I may consider myself as the purchaser of this here animal, for the use and behoof of this young gentleman?” making a sign with his head to the tall young man by his side. “By no means,” said I, “I am utterly unacquainted with either of you, and before parting with the horse I must be satisfied as to the respectability of the purchaser.” “Oh! as to that matter,” said he, “I have plenty of vouchers for my respectability about me;” and thrusting his hand into his bosom below his waistcoat, he drew out a large bundle of notes. “These are the kind of things,” said he, “which vouch best for a man’s respectability.” “Not always,” said I; “indeed, sometimes these kind of things need vouchers for themselves.” The man looked at me with a peculiar look. “Do you mean to say that these notes are not sufficient notes?” said he, “because if you do I shall take the liberty of thinking you are not over civil, and when I thinks a person is not over and above civil I sometimes takes off my coat; and when my coat is off—” “You sometimes knock people down,” I added; “well, whether you knock me down or not, I beg leave to tell you that I am a stranger in this fair, and that I shall part with the horse to nobody who has no better guarantee for his respectability than a roll of bank-notes, which may be good or not for what I know, who am not a judge of such things.” “Oh! if you are a stranger here,” said the man, “as I believe you are, never having seen you here before except last night, when I think I saw you above stairs by the glimmer of a candle—I say, if you are a stranger, you are quite right to be cautious; queer things being done in this fair, as nobody knows better than myself,” he added with a leer; “but I suppose if the landlord of the house vouches for me and my notes, you will have no objection to part with the horse to me?” “None whatever,” said I, “and in the meantime the horse can return to the stable.”
Thereupon I delivered the horse to my friend the ostler.
The landlord of the house on being questioned by me as to the character and condition of my new acquaintance, informed me that he was a respectable horsedealer, and an intimate friend of his, whereupon the purchase was soon brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
High Dutch.
It was evening: and myself and the two acquaintances I had made in the fair—namely, the jockey and the tall foreigner—sat in a large upstairs room, which looked into a court; we had dined with several people connected with the fair at a long table d’hôte; they had now departed, and we sat at a small side-table with wine and a candle before us; both my companions had pipes in their mouths—the jockey a common pipe, and the foreigner, one, the syphon of which, made of some kind of wood, was at least six feet long, and the bowl of which, made of a white kind of substance like porcelain, and capable of holding nearly an ounce of tobacco, rested on the ground. The jockey frequently emptied and replenished his glass; the foreigner sometimes raised his to his lips, for no other purpose seemingly than to moisten them, as he never drained his glass. As for myself, though I did not smoke, I had a glass before me, from which I sometimes took a sip. The room, notwithstanding the window was flung open, was in general so filled with smoke, chiefly that which was drawn from the huge bowl of the foreigner, that my companions and I were frequently concealed from each other’s eyes. The conversation, which related entirely to the events of the fair, was carried on by the jockey and myself, the foreigner, who appeared to understand the greater part of what we said, occasionally putting in a few observations in broken English. At length the jockey, after the other had made some ineffectual attempts to express something intelligibly which he wished to say, observed, “Isn’t it a pity that so fine a fellow as meinheer, and so clever a fellow too, as I believe him to be, is not a better master of our language?”
“Is the gentleman a German?” said I; “if so, I can interpret for him anything he wishes to say.”
“The deuce you can,” said the jockey, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and staring at me through the smoke.
“Ha! you speak German,” vociferated the foreigner in that language. “By Isten, I am glad of it! I wanted to say—” And here he said in German what he wished to say, and which was of no great importance, and which I translated into English.
“Well, if you don’t put me out,” said the jockey; “what language is that—Dutch?”
“High Dutch,” said I.
“High Dutch, and you speak High Dutch,—why, I had booked you for as great an ignoramus as myself, who can’t write—no, nor distinguish in a book a great A from a bull’s foot.”
“A person may be a very clever man,” said I—“no, not a clever man, for clever signifies clerkly, and a clever man one who is able to read and write, and entitled to the benefit of his clergy or clerkship; but a person may be a very acute person without being able to read or write. I never saw a more acute countenance than your own.”
“No soft soap,” said the jockey, “for I never uses any. However, thank you for your information; I have hitherto thought myself a’nition clever fellow, but from henceforth shall consider myself just the contrary, and only—what’s the word?—confounded ’cute.”
“Just so,” said I.
“Well,” said the jockey, “as you say you can speak High Dutch, I should like to hear you and master six foot six fire away at each other.”
“I cannot speak German,” said I, “but I can understand tolerably well what others say in it.”
“Come no backing out,” said the jockey, “let’s hear you fire away for the glory of Old England.”
“Then you are a German?” said I, in German to the foreigner.
“That will do,” said the jockey, “keep it up.”
“A German!” said the tall foreigner. “No, I thank God that I do not belong to the stupid sluggish Germanic race, but to a braver, taller, and handsomer people;” here taking the pipe out of his mouth, he stood up proudly erect, so that his head nearly touched the ceiling of the room, then reseating himself, and again putting the syphon to his lips, he added, “I am a Magyar.”
“What is that?” said I.
The foreigner looked at me for a moment, somewhat contemptuously, through the smoke, then said, in a voice of thunder, “A Hungarian!”
“What a voice the chap has when he pleases!” interposed the jockey; “what is he saying?”
“Merely that he is a Hungarian,” said I; but I added, “the conversation of this gentleman and myself in a language which you can’t understand must be very tedious to you, we had better give it up.”
“Keep on with it,” said the jockey, “I shall go on listening very contentedly till I fall asleep, no bad thing to do at most times.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
The Hungarian.
“Then you are a countryman of Tekeli, and of the queen who made the celebrated water,” said I, speaking to the Hungarian in German, which I was able to do tolerably well, owing to my having translated the Publisher’s philosophy into that language, always provided I did not attempt to say much at a time.
Hungarian. Ah! you have heard of Tekeli, and of L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie. How is that?
Myself. I have seen a play acted, founded on the exploits of Tekeli, and have read Pigault Le Brun’s beautiful romance, entitled the “Barons of Felsheim,” in which he is mentioned. As for the water, I have heard a lady, the wife of a master of mine, speak of it.
Hungarian. Was she handsome?
Myself. Very.
Hungarian. Did she possess the water?
Myself. I should say not; for I have heard her express a great curiosity about it.
Hungarian. Was she growing old?
Myself. Of course not; but why do you put all these questions?
Hungarian. Because the water is said to make people handsome, and above all, to restore to the aged the beauty of their youth. Well! Tekeli was my countryman, and I have the honour of having some of the blood of the Tekelis in my veins, but with respect to the queen, pardon me if I tell you that she was not an Hungarian; she was a Pole—Ersebet by name, daughter of Wladislaus Locticus King of Poland; she was the fourth spouse of Caroly the Second, King of the Magyar country, who married her in 1320. She was a great woman and celebrated politician, though at present chiefly known by her water.
Myself. How came she to invent it?
Hungarian. If her own account may be believed, she did not invent it. After her death, as I have read in Florentius of Buda, there was found a statement of the manner in which she came by it, written in her own hand, on a fly-leaf of her breviary, to the following effect:—Being afflicted with a grievous disorder at the age of seventy-two, she received the medicine which was called her water, from an old hermit whom she never saw before or afterwards; it not only cured her, but restored to her all her former beauty, so that the King of Poland fell in love with her, and made her an offer of marriage, which she refused for the glory of God, from whose holy angel she believed she had received the water. The receipt for making it and directions for using it, were also found on the fly-leaf. The principal component parts were burnt wine and rosemary, passed through an alembic; a drachm of it was to be taken once a week, “etelbenn vagy italbann,” in the food or the drink, early in the morning, and the cheeks were to be moistened with it every day. The effects according to the statement, were wonderful—and perhaps they were upon the queen; but whether the water has been equally efficacious on other people, is a point which I cannot determine. I should wish to see some old woman who has been restored to youthful beauty by the use of L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie.
Myself. Perhaps, if you did, the old gentlewoman would hardly be so ingenuous as the queen. But who are the Hungarians—descendants of Attila and his people?
The Hungarian shook his head, and gave me to understand that he did not believe that his nation were the descendants of Attila and his people, though he acknowledged that they were probably of the same race. Attila and his armies, he said, came and disappeared in a very mysterious manner, and that nothing could be said with positiveness about them; that the people now known as Magyars first made their appearance in Muscovy in the year 884, under the leadership of Almus, called so from Alom, which, in the Hungarian language, signifies a dream; his mother, before his birth, having dreamt that the child with which she was enceinte would be the father of a long succession of kings, which, in fact, was the case; that after beating the Russians he entered Hungary, and coming to a place called Ungvar, from which many people believed that modern Hungary derived its name, he captured it, and held in it a grand festival, which lasted four days, at the end of which time he resigned the leadership of the Magyars to his son Arpad. This Arpad and his Magyars utterly subdued Pannonia—that is, Hungary and Transylvania, wresting the government of it from the Sclavonian tribes who inhabited it, and settling down amongst them as conquerors! After giving me this information, the Hungarian exclaimed with much animation,—“A goodly country that which they had entered on, consisting of a plain surrounded by mountains, some of which intersect it here and there, with noble rapid rivers, the grandest of which is the mighty Dunau; a country with tiny volcanoes, casting up puffs of smoke and steam, and from which hot springs arise, good for the sick; with many fountains, some of which are so pleasant to the taste as to be preferred to wine; with a generous soil which, warmed by a beautiful sun, is able to produce corn, grapes, and even the Indian weed; in fact, one of the finest countries in the world, which even a Spaniard would pronounce to be nearly equal to Spain. Here they rested—meditating, however, fresh conquests. Oh, the Magyars soon showed themselves a mighty people. Besides Hungary and Transylvania, they subdued Bulgaria and Bosnia, and the land of Tot, now called Sclavonia. The generals of Zoltan, the son of Arpad, led troops of horsemen to the banks of the Rhine. One of them, at the head of a host, besieged Constantinople. It was then that Botond engaged in combat with a Greek of gigantic stature, who came out of the city and challenged the two best men in the Magyar army. ‘I am the feeblest of the Magyars,’ said Botond, ‘but I will kill thee;’ and he performed his word, having previously given a proof of the feebleness of his arm by striking his battle-axe through the brazen gate, making a hole so big that a child of five years old could walk through it.”
Myself. Of what religion were the old Hungarians?
Hungarian. They had some idea of a Supreme Being, whom they called Isten, which word is still used by the Magyars for God; but their chief devotion was directed to sorcerers and soothsayers, something like the Schamans of the Siberian steppes. They were converted to Christianity chiefly through the instrumentality of Istvan or Stephen, called after his death St. Istvan, who ascended the throne in the year one thousand. He was born in heathenesse, and his original name was Vojk: he was the first kiraly, or king of the Magyars. Their former leaders had been called fejedelmek, or dukes. The Magyar language has properly no term either for king or house. Kiraly is a word derived from the Sclaves; haz, or house, from the Germans, who first taught them to build houses, their original dwellings having been tilted waggons.
Myself. Many thanks for your account of the great men of your country.
Hungarian. The great men of my country! I have only told you of the— Well, I acknowledge that Almus and Arpad were great men, but Hungary has produced many greater; I will not trouble you by recapitulating all, but there is one name I cannot forbear mentioning—but you have heard of it—even at Horncastle, the name of Hunyadi must be familiar.
Myself. It may be so, though I rather doubt it; but, however that may be, I confess my ignorance. I have never, until this moment, heard the name of Hunyadi.
Hungarian. Not of Hunyadi Janos, not of Hunyadi John—for the genius of our language compels us to put a man’s Christian name after his other; perhaps you have heard of the name of Corvinus?
Myself. Yes, I have heard the name of Corvinus.
Hungarian. By my God, I am glad of it; I thought our hammer of destruction, our thunderbolt, whom the Greeks called Achilles, must be known to the people of Horncastle. Well, Hunyadi and Corvinus are the same.
Myself. Corvinus means the man of the crow, or raven. I suppose that your John, when a boy, climbed up to a crow or a raven’s nest, and stole the young; a bold feat, well befitting a young hero.
Hungarian. By Isten, you are an acute guesser; a robbery there was, but it was not Hunyadi who robbed the raven, but the raven who robbed Hunyadi.
Myself. How was that?
Hungarian. In this manner: Hunyadi, according to tradition, was the son of King Sigmond, by a peasant’s daughter. The king saw and fell in love with her, whilst marching against the vaivode of Wallachia. He had some difficulty in persuading her to consent to his wishes, and she only yielded at last, on the king making her a solemn promise that, in the event of her becoming with child by him, he would handsomely provide for her and the infant. The king proceeded on his expedition; and on his returning in triumph from Wallachia, again saw the girl, who informed him that she was enceinte by him; the king was delighted with the intelligence, gave the girl money, and at the same time a ring, requesting her, if she brought forth a son, to bring the ring to Buda with the child, and present it to him. When her time was up, the peasant’s daughter brought forth a fair son, who was baptized by the name of John. After some time the young woman communicated the whole affair to her elder brother, whose name was Gaspar, and begged him to convey her and the child to the king at Buda. The brother consented, and both set out, taking the child with them. On their way, the woman, wanting to wash her clothes, laid the child down, giving it the king’s ring to play with. A raven, who saw the glittering ring, came flying, and plucking it out of the child’s hand, carried it up into a tree; the child suddenly began to cry, and the mother, hearing it, left her washing, and running to the child, forthwith missed the ring, but hearing the raven croak in the tree, she lifted up her eyes, and saw it with the ring in its beak. The woman, in great terror, called her brother, and told him what had happened, adding that she durst not approach the king if the raven took away the ring. Gaspar, seizing his cross-bow and quiver, ran to the tree, where the raven was yet with the ring, and discharged an arrow at it, but, being in a great hurry, he missed it; with his second shot he was more lucky, for he hit the raven in the breast, which, together with the ring, fell to the ground. Taking up the ring, they went on their way, and shortly arrived at Buda. One day, as the king was walking after dinner in his outer hall, the woman appeared before him with the child, and, showing him the ring, said, “Mighty lord! behold this token! and take pity upon me and your own son.” King Sigmond took the child and kissed it, and, after a pause, said to the mother, “You have done right in bringing me the boy; I will take care of you, and make him a nobleman.” The king was as good as his word, he provided for the mother; caused the boy to be instructed in knightly exercises, and made him a present of the town of Hunyad, in Transylvania, on which account he was afterwards called Hunyadi, and gave him, as an armorial sign, a raven bearing a ring in his beak.
Such, oh young man of Horncastle! is the popular account of the birth of the great captain of Hungary, as related by Florentius of Buda. There are other accounts of his birth, which is, indeed, involved in much mystery, and of the reason of his being called Corvinus, but as this is the most pleasing, and is, upon the whole, founded on quite as good evidence as the others, I have selected it for recitation.
Myself. I heartily thank you; but you must tell me something more of Hunyadi. You call him your great captain; what did he do?
Hungarian. Do! what no other man of his day could have done. He broke the power of the Turk when he was coming to overwhelm Europe. From the blows inflicted by Hunyadi, the Turk never thoroughly recovered; he has been frequently worsted in latter times, but none but Hunyadi could have routed the armies of Amurath and Mahomed the Second.
Myself. How was it that he had an opportunity of displaying his military genius?
Hungarian. I can hardly tell you, but his valour soon made him famous; King Albert made him Ban of Szorenyi. He became eventually waivode of Transylvania, and governor of Hungary. His first grand action was the defeat of Bashaw Isack; and though himself surprised and routed at St. Imre, he speedily regained his prestige by defeating the Turks, with enormous slaughter, killing their leader, Mezerbeg; and subsequently, at the battle of the Iron Gates, he destroyed ninety thousand Turks, sent by Amurath to avenge the late disgrace. It was then that the Greeks called him Achilles.
Myself. He was not always successful.
Hungarian. Who could be always successful against the early Turk? He was defeated in the battle in which King Vladislaus lost his life, but his victories outnumbered his defeats three-fold. His grandest victory—perhaps the grandest ever achieved by man—was over the terrible Mahomed the Second; who, after the taking of Constantinople in 1453, said, “One God in Heaven—one king on earth;” and marched to besiege Belgrade at the head of one hundred, and fifty thousand men; swearing by the beard of the prophet, “That he would sup within it ere two months were elapsed.” He brought with him dogs, to eat the bodies of the Christians whom he should take or slay; so says Florentius; hear what he also says: The Turk sat down before the town towards the end of June, 1454, covering the Dunau and Szava with ships: and on the 4th of July he began to cannonade Belgrade with cannons twenty-five feet long, whose roar could be heard at Szeged, a distance of twenty-four leagues, at which place Hunyadi had assembled his forces. Hunyadi had been able to raise only fifteen thousand of well-armed and disciplined men, though he had with him vast bands of people, who called themselves Soldiers of the Cross, but who consisted of inexperienced lads from school, peasants, and hermits, armed with swords, slings, and clubs. Hunyadi, undismayed by the great disparity between his forces and those of the Turk, advanced to relieve Belgrade, and encamped at Szalankemen with his army. There he saw at once, that his first step must be to attack the flotilla; he therefore privately informed Szilagy, his wife’s brother, who at that time defended Belgrade, that it was his intention to attack the ships of the Turks on the 14th day of July in front, and requested his co-operation in the rear. On the 14th came on the commencement of the great battle of Belgrade, between Hunyadi and the Turk. Many days it lasted.
Myself. Describe it.
Hungarian. I cannot. One has described it well—Florentius of Buda. I can only repeat a few of his words:—“On the appointed day, Hunyadi, with two hundred vessels, attacked the Turkish flotilla in front, whilst Szilagy, with forty vessels, filled with the men of Belgrade, assailed it in the rear; striving for the same object, they sunk many of the Turkish vessels, captured seventy-four, burnt many, and utterly annihilated the whole fleet. After this victory, Hunyadi, with his army, entered Belgrade, to the great joy of the Magyars. But though the force of Mahomed upon the water was destroyed, that upon the land remained entire; and with this, during six days and nights, he attacked the city without intermission, destroying its walls in many parts. His last and most desperate assault was made on the 21st day of July. Twice did the Turks gain possession of the outer town, and twice was it retaken with indescribable slaughter. The next day the combat raged without ceasing till mid-day, when the Turks were again beaten out of the town, and pursued by the Magyars to their camp. There the combat was renewed, both sides displaying the greatest obstinacy, until Mahomed received a great wound over his left eye. The Turks then, turning their faces, fled, leaving behind them three hundred cannon in the hands of the Christians, and more than twenty-four thousand slain on the field of battle.”
Myself. After that battle, I suppose Hunyadi enjoyed his triumphs in peace?
Hungarian. In the deepest, for he shortly died. His great soul quitted his body, which was exhausted by almost superhuman exertions, on the 11th of August, 1456. Shortly before he died, according to Florentius, a comet appeared, sent, as it would seem, to announce his coming end. The whole Christian world mourned his loss. The Pope ordered the cardinals to perform a funeral ceremony at Rome in his honour. His great enemy himself grieved for him, and pronounced his finest eulogium. When Mahomed the Second heard of his death, he struck his head for some time against the ground without speaking. Suddenly he broke silence with these words, “Notwithstanding he was my enemy, yet do I bewail his loss; since the sun has shone in heaven, no Prince had ever yet such a man.”
Myself. What was the name of his Prince?
Hungarian. Laszlo the Fifth; who, though under infinite obligations to Hunyadi, was anything but grateful to him; for he once consented to a plan which was laid to assassinate him, contrived by his mortal enemy Ulrik, Count of Cilejia; and after Hunyadi’s death, caused his eldest son, Hunyadi Laszlo, to be executed on a false accusation, and imprisoned his younger son, Matyas, who, on the death of Laszlo, was elected by the Magyars to be their king, on the 24th of January, 1458.
Myself. Was this Matyas a good king?
Hungarian. Was Matyas Corvinus a good king? O young man of Horncastle! he was the best and greatest that ever Hungary possessed, and, after his father, the most renowned warrior,—some of our best laws were framed by him. It was he who organized the Hussar force, and it was he who took Vienna. Why does your Government always send fools to represent it at Vienna?
Myself. I really cannot say; but with respect to the Hussar force, is it of Hungarian origin?
Hungarian. Its name shows its origin. Huz, in Hungarian, is twenty and the Hussar force is so called because it is formed of twentieths. A law was issued by which it was ordered that every Hungarian nobleman, out of every twenty dependents, should produce a well-equipped horseman, and with him proceed to the field of battle.
Myself. Why did Matyas capture Venna?
Hungarian. Because the Emperor Frederick took part against him with the King of Poland, who claimed the kingdom of Hungary for his son, and had also assisted the Turk. He captured it in the year 1487, but did not survive his triumph long, expiring there in the year 1490. He was so veracious a man, that it was said of him, after his death, “Truth died with Matyas.” It might be added that the glory of Hungary departed with him. I wish to say nothing more connected with Hungarian history.
Myself. Another word. Did Matyas leave a son?
Hungarian. A natural son, Hunyadi John, called so after the great man. He would have been universally acknowledged as King of Hungary but for the illegitimacy of his birth. As it was, Ulaszlo, the son of the King of Poland, afterwards called Ulaszlo the Second, who claimed Hungary as being descended from Albert, was nominated king by a great majority of the Magyar electors. Hunyadi John for some time disputed the throne with him; there was some bloodshed, but Hunyadi John eventually submitted, and became the faithful captain of Ulaszlo, notwithstanding that the Turk offered to assist him with an army of two hundred thousand men.
Myself. Go on.
Hungarian. To what? Tché Drak, to the Mohacs Veszedelem. Ulaszlo left a son, Lajos the Second, born without skin, as it is said, certainly without a head. He, contrary to the advice of all his wise counsellors,—and amongst them was Batory Stephen, who became eventually King of Poland—engaged, with twenty-five thousand men, at Mohacs, Soliman the Turk, who had an army of two hundred thousand. Drak! the Magyars were annihilated, King Lajos disappeared with his heavy horse and armour in a bog. We call that battle, which was fought on the 29th of August, 1526, the destruction of Mohacs, but it was the destruction of Hungary.
Myself. You have twice used the word drak, what is the meaning of it? Is it Hungarian?
Hungarian. No! it belongs to the mad Wallacks. They are a nation of madmen on the other side of Transylvania. Their country was formerly a fief of Hungary, like Moldavia, which is inhabited by the same race, who speak the same language and are equally mad.
Myself. What language do they speak?
Hungarian. A strange mixture of Latin and Sclavonian—they themselves being a mixed race of Romans and Sclavonians. Trajan sent certain legions to form military colonies in Dacia; and the present Wallacks and Moldavians are, to a certain extent, the descendants of the Roman soldiers, who married the women of the country. I say to a certain extent, for the Sclavonian element both in blood and language seems to prevail.
Myself. And what is drak?
Hungarian. Dragon; which the Wallacks use for “devil.” The term is curious, as it shows that the old Romans looked upon the dragon as an infernal being.
Myself. You have been in Wallachia?
Hungarian. I have, and glad I was to get out of it. I hate the mad Wallacks.
Myself. Why do you call them mad?
Hungarian. They are always drinking or talking. I never saw a Wallachian eating or silent. They talk like madmen, and drink like madmen. In drinking they use small phials, the contents of which they pour down their throats. When I first went amongst them I thought the whole nation was under a course of physic, but the terrible jabber of their tongues soon undeceived me. Drak was the first word I heard on entering Dacia, and the last when I left it. The Moldaves, if possible, drink more, and talk more than the Wallachians.
Myself. It is singular enough that the only Moldavian I have known could not speak. I suppose he was born dumb.
Hungarian. A Moldavian born dumb! Excuse me, the thing is impossible,—all Moldavians are born talking! I have known a Moldavian who could not speak, but he was not born dumb. His master, an Armenian, snipped off part of his tongue at Adrianople. He drove him mad with his jabber. He is now in London, where his master has a house. I have letters of credit on the house: the clerk paid me money in London, the master was absent; the money which you received for the horse belonged to that house.
Myself. Another word with respect to Hungarian history.
Hungarian. Drak! I wish to say nothing more about Hungarian history.
Myself. The Turk, I suppose, after Mohacs, got possession of Hungary?
Hungarian. Not exactly. The Turk, upon the whole, showed great moderation; not so the Austrian. Ferdinand the First claimed the crown of Hungary as being the cousin of Maria, widow of Lajos; he found too many disposed to support him. His claim, however, was resisted by Zapolya John, a Hungarian magnate, who caused himself to be elected king. Hungary was for a long time devastated by wars between the partisans of Zapolya and Ferdinand. At last Zapolya called in the Turk. Soliman behaved generously to him, and after his death befriended his young son, and Isabella his queen; eventually the Turks became masters of Transylvania and the greater part of Hungary. They were not bad masters, and had many friends in Hungary, especially amongst those of the reformed faith, to which I have myself the honour of belonging; those of the reformed faith found the Mufti more tolerant than the Pope. Many Hungarians went with the Turks to the siege of Vienna, whilst Tekeli and his horsemen guarded Hungary for them. A gallant enterprise that siege of Vienna, the last great effort of the Turk; it failed, and he speedily lost Hungary, but he did not sneak from Hungary like a frightened hound. His defence of Buda will not be soon forgotten, where Apty Basha, the governor, died fighting like a lion in the breach. There’s many a Hungarian would prefer Stamboul to Vienna. Why does your Government always send fools to represent it at Vienna?
Myself. I have already told you that I cannot say. What became of Tekeli?
Hungarian. When Hungary was lost he retired with the Turks into Turkey. Count Renoncourt, in his Memoirs, mentions having seen him at Adrianople. The Sultan, in consideration of the services which he had rendered to the Moslem in Hungary, made over the revenues of certain towns and districts for his subsistence. The count says that he always went armed to the teeth, and was always attended by a young female dressed in male attire, who had followed him in his wars, and had more than once saved his life. His end is wrapped in mystery, I—whose greatest boast, next to being a Hungarian, is to be of his blood—know nothing of his end.
Myself. Allow me to ask who you are?
Hungarian. Egy szegeny Magyar Nemes ember, a poor Hungarian nobleman, son of one yet poorer. I was born in Transylvania, not far to the west of good Coloscvar. I served some time in the Austrian army as a noble Hussar, but am now equerry to a great nobleman, to whom I am distantly related. In his service I have travelled far and wide, buying horses. I have been in Russia and in Turkey, and am now at Horncastle, where I have had the satisfaction to meet with you, and to buy your horse, which is, in truth, a noble brute.
Myself. For a soldier and equerry you seem to know a great deal of the history of your country.
Hungarian. All I know is derived from Florentius of Buda, whom we call Budai Ferentz. He was professor of Greek and Latin at the Reformed College of Debreczen, where I was educated; he wrote a work entitled “Magyar Polgari Lexicon,” Lives of Great Hungarian Citizens. He was dead before I was born, but I found his book, when I was a child, in the solitary home of my father, which stood on the confines of a puszta, or wilderness, and that book I used to devour in winter nights when the winds were whistling around the house. Oh! how my blood used to glow at the descriptions of Magyar valour, and likewise of Turkish; for Florentius has always done justice to the Turk. Many a passage similar to this have I got by heart; it is connected with a battle on the plain of Rigo, which Hunyadi lost:—“The next day, which was Friday, as the two armies were drawn up in battle array, a Magyar hero riding forth, galloped up and down, challenging the Turks to single combat. Then came out to meet him the son of a renowned bashaw of Asia; rushing upon each other, both broke their lances, but the Magyar hero and his horse rolled over upon the ground, for the Turks had always the best horses.” O young man of Horncastle! if ever you learn Hungarian—and learn it assuredly you will after what I have told you—read the book of Florentius of Buda, even if you go to Hungary to get it, for you will scarcely find it elsewhere, and even there with difficulty, for the book has been long out of print. It describes the actions of the great men of Hungary down to the middle of the sixteenth century; and besides being written in the purest Hungarian, has the merit of having for its author a professor of the Reformed College of Debreczen.
Myself. I will go to Hungary rather than not read it. I am glad that the Turk beat the Magyar. When I used to read the ballads of Spain I always sided with the Moor against the Christian.
Hungarian. It was a drawn fight after all, for the terrible horse of the Turk presently flung his own master, whereupon the two champions returned to their respective armies; but in the grand conflict which ensued, the Turks beat the Magyars, pursuing them till night, and striking them on the necks with their scymetars. The Turk is a noble fellow; I should wish to be a Turk, were I not a Magyar.
Myself. The Turk always keeps his word, I am told.
Hungarian. Which the Christian very seldom does, and even the Hungarian does not always. In 1444 Ulaszlo made, at Szeged, peace with Amurath for ten years, which he swore with an oath to keep, but at the instigation of the Pope Julian he broke it, and induced his great captain, Hunyadi John, to share in the perjury. The consequence was the battle of Varna, of the 10th of November, in which Hunyadi was routed, and Ulaszlo slain. Did you ever hear his epitaph? it is both solemn and edifying:—
Romulidæ Cannas ego Varnam clade notavi;
Discite mortales non temerare fidem:
Me nisi Pontifices jussissent rumpere foedus
Non ferret Scythicum Pannonis ora jugum.”
“Halloo!” said the jockey, starting up from a doze in which he had been indulging for the last hour, his head leaning upon his breast, “what is that? That’s not high Dutch; I bargained for high Dutch, and I left you speaking high Dutch, as it sounded very much like the language of horses, as I have been told high Dutch does; but as for what you are speaking now, whatever you may call it, it sounds more like the language of another kind of animal. I suppose you want to insult me, because I was once a dicky-boy.”
“Nothing of the kind,” said I; “the gentleman was making a quotation in Latin.”
“Latin, was it?” said the jockey; “that alters the case. Latin is genteel, and I have sent my eldest boy to an academy to learn it. Come, let us hear you fire away in Latin,” he continued, proceeding to re-light his pipe, which, before going to sleep, he had laid on the table.
“If you wish to follow the discourse in Latin,” said the Hungarian, in very bad English, “I can oblige you; I learned to speak very good Latin in the college of Debreczen.”
“That’s more,” said I, “than I have done in the colleges where I have been; in any little conversation which we may yet have, I wish you would use German.”
“Well,” said the jockey, taking a whiff, “make your conversation as short as possible, whether in Latin or Dutch, for, to tell you the truth, I am rather tired of merely playing listener.”
“You were saying you had been in Russia,” said I; “I believe the Russians are part of the Sclavonian race.”
Hungarian. Yes, part of the great Sclavonian family; one of the most numerous races in the world. The Russians themselves are very numerous; would that the Magyars could boast of the fifth part of their number!
Myself. What is the number of the Magyars?
Hungarian. Barely four millions. We came a tribe of Tartars into Europe, and settled down amongst Sclavonians, whom we conquered, but who never coalesced with us. The Austrian at present plays in Pannonia the Sclavonian against us, and us against the Sclavonian; but the downfall of the Austrian is at hand; they, like us, are not a numerous people.
Myself. Who will bring about his downfall?
Hungarian. The Russians. The Rysckie Tsar will lead his people forth, all the Sclavonians will join him, he will conquer all before him.
Myself. Are the Russians good soldiers?
Hungarian. They are stubborn and unflinching to an astonishing degree, and their fidelity to their Tsar is quite admirable. See how the Russians behaved at Plescova, in Livonia, in the old time, against our great Batory Stephen; they defended the place till it was a heap of rubbish, and mark how they behaved after they had been made prisoners. Stephen offered them two alternatives:—to enter into his service, in which they would have good pay, clothing, and fair treatment; or to be allowed to return to Russia. Without the slightest hesitation they, to a man, chose the latter, though well aware that their beloved Tsar, the cruel Ivan Basilowits, would put them all to death, amidst tortures the most horrible, for not doing what was impossible—preserving the town.
Myself. You speak Russian?
Hungarian. A little. I was born in the vicinity of a Sclavonian tribe; the servants of our house were Sclavonians, and I early acquired something of their language, which differs not much from that of Russia; when in that country I quickly understood what was said.
Myself. Have the Russians any literature?
Hungarian. Doubtless; but I am not acquainted with it, as I do not read their language; but I know something of their popular tales, to which I used to listen in their izbushkas; a principal personage in these is a creation quite original—called Baba Yaga.
Myself. Who is the Baba Yaga?
Hungarian. A female phantom, who is described as hurrying along the puszta, or steppe, in a mortar, pounding with a pestle at a tremendous rate, and leaving a long trace on the ground behind her with her tongue, which is three yards long, and with which she seizes any men and horses coming in her way, swallowing them down into her capacious belly. She has several daughters, very handsome, and with plenty of money; happy the young Mujik who catches and marries one of them, for they make excellent wives.
“Many thanks,” said I, “for the information you have afforded me: this is rather poor wine,” I observed, as I poured out a glass—“I suppose you have better wine in Hungary?”
“Yes, we have better wine in Hungary. First of all there is Tokay, the most celebrated in the world, though I confess I prefer the wine of Eger—Tokay is too sweet.”
“Have you ever been at Tokay?”
“I have,” said the Hungarian.
“What kind of place is Tokay?”
“A small town situated on the Tyzza, a rapid river descending from the north; the Tokay Mountain is just behind the town, which stands on the right bank. The top of the mountain is called Kopacs Teto, or the bald tip; the hill is so steep that during thunder-storms pieces frequently fall down upon the roofs of the houses. It was planted with vines by King Lajos, who ascended the throne in 1342. The best wine called Tokay is, however, not made at Tokay, but at Kassau, two leagues farther into the Carpathians, of which Tokay is a spur. If you wish to drink the best Tokay, you must go to Vienna, to which place all the prime is sent. For the third time I ask you, O young man of Horncastle! why does your Government always send fools to represent it at Vienna?”
“And for the third time I tell you, O son of Almus! that I cannot say; perhaps, however, to drink the sweet Tokay wine; fools, you know, always like sweet things.”
“Good,” said the Hungarian; “it must be so, and when I return to Hungary, I will state to my countrymen your explanation of a circumstance which has frequently caused them great perplexity. Oh! the English are a clever people, and have a deep meaning in all they do. What a vision of deep policy opens itself to my view! they do not send their fool to Vienna in order to gape at processions, and to bow and scrape at a base Papist court, but to drink at the great dinners the celebrated Tokay of Hungary, which the Hungarians, though they do not drink it, are very proud of, and by doing so to intimate the sympathy which the English entertain for their fellow religionists of Hungary. Oh! the English are a deep people.”