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The Day of Wrath, a novel by Maurus Jokai |
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Chapter 13. The Leather-Bell |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. 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 Hétfalu "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 "bör" 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 Hétfalusy 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 Hétfalusy 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. Sarkantyús, 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. _ |
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