Midst the Wild Carpathians Part 30

On the bastions are to be seen Banfi's own soldiers, consisting of about six hundred mail-clad heroes, with long Turkish muskets and Scythian helmets. On the walls facing the Szamos six mortars are placed. A few yards further off a coal fire is burning, at which the cannoneers are heating the ends of their long iron staves so as to use them as linstocks.

At every gate, at every b.u.t.tressed window, stand a couple of pages in crimson dolmans and tightly-fitting, cornflower-blue hose, richly garnished with silver-embroidered lace.

At the window of the highest donjon sits the castellan, ready to proclaim the arrival of his liege lord by the blast of a horn. Over his head the wind is wrestling with a gigantic purple banner, the huge dependent gold ta.s.sels of which it can only raise with difficulty.

Out of all the windows, inquisitive domestics and expectant knights and dames peep forth, or rather, out of all the windows but three, which are altogether bare of festal groups, for there nothing is to be seen but fragrant jasmines and quivering mimosas in snow-white porcelain vases, behind which one can dimly distinguish a pale and delicate form leaning dreamily on the embroidered window-cushions. This is Denis Banfi's wife.

It might have been ten o'clock in the morning when the castellan, perceiving clouds of dust on the highway, announced the approach of his Excellency with a blast of his horn, whereupon the roar of the mortars scared every one into his proper place; the priests and teachers reviewed their pupils, the officers marshalled their troops, and the trumpeters on the ramparts played the latest marches.

Shortly afterwards the Lord-Lieutenant arrived, escorted by the banderia of half-a-dozen counties. Before and behind him trotted squadrons of hors.e.m.e.n, whose arms and caparisons gleamed with all the colours of the rainbow. There were to be seen horses of every race and every hue--Arabian stallions, Transylvanian full-bloods, little Wallachian ponies, slim English racers, and light-footed Barbary steeds. There were horses with flesh-coloured manes, jewelled bits, variegated reins, and embroidered schabracks. There were all the weapons with which the art of war was then familiar--the slender Damascus blade, the toothed morning-star, the curved _csakany_,[37] the serpentine crease, and those long, gorgeously-fashioned fire-arms which could seldom be discharged more than once; here and there, too, was visible a specimen of those three-edged, six feet long Turkish scimitars, which were just then coming into vogue.

[Footnote 37: _Csakany._ An ancient weapon, half hook, half battle-axe, of Tartar origin.]

Each squadron brought its banner, on which the arms of the respective counties were gaily embroidered, and st.u.r.dy standard-bearers bore them aloft on their saddle-bows. In front of the martial bands rode their captain, George Veer, a muscular man of about forty, with a grey-speckled beard, stiffly waxed moustaches, and sun-burnt face. A stately heron's plume, fastened by an opal agraffe, waved from his marten-embroidered kalpag; his gorgeous bearskin was held together in front by a gold chain as broad as a man's hand, set with gems.

Chrysolites as large as filberts gleamed, instead of eyes, in the bear's head looking over his shoulder; his body was encased in a coat of silver mail, sewn with gold stars, through which his dark-blue dolman was visible. His crooked scimitar with its golden hilt well became the hand which held it, and from his saddle-bows peeped forth the menacing muzzles of a pair of pistols, the mechanism of which was about as simple as the mechanism of a modern steam-engine.

The Lord-Lieutenant himself sat in an open carriage, drawn by five black horses, with rose-coloured, gilded harness; both panels of the carriage door bore the Banfi crest, gorgeously painted on a gold ground; behind stood two hussars with silver-embroidered mantles and white heron plumes.

With haughty dignity Denis Banfi sits back on the velvet cushions of his coach; all the pomp and splendour which surrounds him suits him well.

His glossy locks leave bare his high forehead, which, together with his fine, frank eyes, bespeaks infinite good-nature, while the bold curve of the bushy eyebrows and the peculiar cut of the thin lips indicate a violent temper. The whole face seems to be constantly under the influence of these hostile emotions. At one moment it is mild, smiling, rosy; at another savage, grim, and suffused by a dark purple flush. The traces of n.o.ble enthusiasm and of unbridled fury are impressed upon his face side by side just as they are in his heart.

The martial squadrons present arms; the school-children chant hymns; the va.s.sals wave their hats; the music resounds from the battlements; the clergymen deliver addresses; and all the guests flutter their kerchiefs and their kalpags at him from the windows, and Banfi receives all these demonstrations of respect with his usual majestic dignity and condescension, with the air of a man who feels that all this sort of thing belongs to him of right. Meanwhile his eyes glance up at those three windows concealed behind the fragrant jasmines and the quivering mimosas, and his face grows graver and sadder when he perceives no one behind them.

From the window of another room there looks down a very tall old man in a long clerical surtout with small b.u.t.tons. Since losing his teeth his chin has moved closer to his nose, which makes his nose look a long way from his eyes. He seems to be taking no part whatever in the general rejoicings. By his side leans a lady in mourning, wearing a black velvet _haube_; rage and contempt are unmistakably visible in her countenance.

Near these two stands Master Stephen Nalaczi with folded arms, surveying the whole procession with a droll, sarcastic smile.

"Just look, your Reverence," says the lady in widow's weeds to the grey-headed clergyman. "Did ever prince lord it with the pomp and splendour of this simple Baron? I have been at coronations, installations, inaugurations, triumphal ovations, but never, never have I seen anything like the homage paid to this private man. If they rendered it to a prince it might pa.s.s, but who, forsooth, is this Denis Banfi? Why, a simple n.o.bleman--just such a one as we are, except that he is full of arrogance and pretence. All this princely splendour does not belong to him _de jure_. Oh! well do I know the meaning of the word _jus_; for I have all my life been before the courts against greater lords than he."

"How my reverend colleagues press forward to kiss his hand," murmured Martin Kuncz (for that was the clergyman's name). "Ei! ei! Look now, at my learned colleague Gabriel Csekalusi, how radiantly he hastens forward to a.s.sist his Excellency out of his carriage!--and he is right, for Denis Banfi is the visible providence of the Calvinists. But for poor, vagabond Unitarian ministers like me, the place behind the door is good enough."

"But just look! just look! how the worthy _armalists_[38] raise him on high and carry him on their shoulders to the door. 'Tis well they do not set him on a litter like a sovereign prince--as if, forsooth, feeding them at his table made him their lord and master!"

[Footnote 38: _Armalists._ n.o.blemen who could show _literae armales_ in support of their n.o.bility.]

"Nay, but, Madame Saint Pauli, pray let the good people do him homage if they like," interrupted Nalaczi with a sneer. "Wait a bit. The greeting I have in reserve for him will add salt to the soup! It will bring my lord to his senses, I warrant you!"

Meanwhile Banfi is mounting the steps, and the crowd, pouring after him, forces its way in at the same time, and carries the Baron on its shoulders right up to the das at the end of the room. The clergymen squeeze their way through the surging mob into their proper places, not without being mercilessly mauled on the way; while George Veer, with respect-inspiring elbows, carves a road for himself through the mob up to the very seat of the Lord-Lieutenant. The room is already crammed full with as many of the gentry as it will hold, the remainder block the corridors. The va.s.sals remain, perforce, in the courtyard, and hear nothing of what is going on but the hubbub which reaches them through the windows, and seems to delight them amazingly.

"My n.o.ble friends," said Banfi, when there was at last something like silence, and his eye had taken in every one present, "it was not without good cause that I invited you to come to my house _armed_. You know right well from the past history of our poor fatherland, how much our nation has suffered because our Princes, either discontented with what they already had, or unable to guard it, have perpetually called in foreign troops. The historians have only recorded what has redounded to the glory of our Princes--victories, battles, conquests; but they have forgotten to mention that in the year 1617, in consequence of the horrors of war, not a single child was born in the whole of Transylvania, for famine and flight killed them all in their mothers'

wombs. But we know it, for we have suffered with and for the people.

Now, thank heaven! we are masters in our own homes. By the Peace of Saint Gothard, the Turkish Sultan and the German Emperor have covenanted not to march their troops through Transylvania, and by thus holding each other in check, have vouchsafed us a little breathing-s.p.a.ce, inasmuch as we are no longer bound to take up arms for either of them, but can set about healing our country's ancient wounds. A golden age is dawning upon us. The whole world is fighting and bleeding, we alone possess peace; in our land alone is the Magyar independent and his own master. True, ours is not a very large realm, but at any rate 'tis our own. We may be a very little people, but we recognize no greater anywhere. Now there are persons who would destroy this golden age. There are persons who do not care what an imprudently begun war may cost the country, provided their ambition, provided their greed is gratified thereby; and if he whom they attack chances to win, _they_ do not perish with their country, but simply turn their coats, go over to the victors, and share the spoil with them."

"That is a slander!" cried some one from the background. Banfi at once recognized Nalaczi's voice.

The murmuring crowd turned towards the corner whence the interruption had proceeded.

"Let him alone, my friends," cried Banfi; "some satellite of Master Michael Teleki's, I suppose. Let him, too, have the benefit of freedom of speech! I, however, who am well acquainted with the upright sentiments of the Estates of the Realm, can tell you positively, that this thoughtless step can never be taken in a const.i.tutional way, and if they attempt by secret intrigues or sudden violence to bring about what cannot be done by fair means, then too they will find me at my post. I wish to defend the realm _and_ the Prince, but if it must be so, I will defend the realm against the Prince himself. Now listen to what the caballers have devised, so as to ensnare us once more in those meshes from which we have hardly withdrawn our heads. Despite the peace, Turks at one time, Tartars at another, cross our frontier, blackmail the people, burn the towns, in short, force their friendship upon us in every imaginable way. Eight days ago they ravaged Segesvar, and before that they made incursions into the Csika district. That, however, is not _my_ business. It concerns the Governors of the Saxon land and the Captains of the Szeklers. It is true that the mouth of his Excellency, Ali Pasha, has long been watering for my domains, only he has not quite made up his mind how to pick a quarrel with me. A few days ago, however, his roving bands captured the Prince's Patrol-officer, and proclaimed through his mouth to the whole district a fresh tax of a farthing per head. The poor peasantry rejoiced at getting off so cheaply, and hastened to pay the tax without first asking me whether it was lawfully levied. The artful Turk gained a double end thereby: in the first place, he got the people to recognize the tax, and in the second place, he found out exactly how many taxable persons resided in the district, and immediately afterwards levied upon them the fearful blackmail of two Hungarian florins per head!"

The mult.i.tude howled with rage.

"I immediately forbade all further payments. This tax does not indeed fall upon our shoulders, for we are n.o.bles; but it is just because we are the peasants' masters that we are bound to save them from being fleeced, and defend them at all hazards. The only answer I sent to his Turkish Excellency was a pig's tail, and if he comes to levy the tax in person, I swear by the living G.o.d, I'll give him a buffet he won't forget as long as he lives."

"We will cut him to pieces!" roared the mob, striking their scabbards, and waving their morning-stars in the air.

"And now, my faithful friends, return to your tents. My seneschals will provide for your entertainment. If we must fight, I'll tell you when."

The excited n.o.bility then withdrew with rattling weapons and boisterous approbation; only a few pet.i.tioners remained behind.

The Klausenburg professors invited their patron to the public examinations. Banfi promised to come, and distribute rewards to the best scholars.

As they retired Banfi beckoned to the remaining suppliants to approach one by one. The first he turned to was Master Martin Kuncz, the Bishop of the Klausenburg Unitarians.

"How can I serve your Reverence?"

"I have a complaint to make, gracious sir," returned Kuncz, with a bow and a sc.r.a.pe. "The Klausenburg town-council has forcibly removed the market booths belonging to the Unitarian Church. I beg you to help us to regain possession."

"I am very sorry I cannot help your Reverence," returned Banfi, whistling through his teeth and b.u.t.toning up his coat. "That is a const.i.tutional affair, and concerns the Prince. The land indeed is mine, but the cause belongs to his Highness's Courts."

"The Prince gave me exactly the same answer, only reversed--'The cause indeed belongs to my Courts, but the land is Banfi's, go to him.'"

Banfi laughed good-humouredly, but Kuncz did not seem to regard the matter as particularly entertaining.

"Then, although my right is as clear as noon-day, I can turn nowhither?"

Banfi shrugged his shoulders and stroked his beard.

"Because your Reverence has right on your side, it by no means follows that you will get justice."

"Then his case is exactly the same as mine," interrupted some one, and Banfi, looking round, beheld Dame Saint Pauli making towards him.

The magnate pretended he did not see the widow, and nonchalantly adjusted the gold and diamond chain of his mente; but the widow thrust herself right under his nose, and thus began--

"Vainly do you condescend to ignore me, my lord. I am here though uninvited."

Banfi looked at her without saying a word, half amused and half annoyed.

"Or perhaps your lordship has forgotten my name?" continued the lady sharply, smiting her breast and exclaiming--"I am the n.o.ble, high-born----"

"And worshipful," added Banfi, laughing.

"Dowager Lady George Saint Pauli," continued the lady imperturbably, "every scion of whose family is as n.o.ble and ill.u.s.trious as the Prince himself. I too have never forgotten what name I bear, but have proudly confessed it before princes and generals--yea, even before greater men than your Excellency."

"Well, well, your ladyship. All that I know by heart, for I have heard it from your own lips twenty times before. Come, tell me quickly what you want."

"Quickly, forsooth! Perchance your Excellency imagines that it is possible to tell in a few words why the suit between us has lasted four years already, and why the suit between the town of Klausenburg and my family has been pending for three-and-sixty years?"

"To cut matters short, I will tell you the whole story myself,"

interrupted Banfi; "your ladyship can make your comment afterwards. Your ladyship possesses a ruinous den in the midst of the Klausenburg market-place----"