Chapter 8. An Unexpected Change

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_ CHAPTER VIII. AN UNEXPECTED CHANGE

A month later John Karpathy was to be met with once more at Pressburg. It made him angry now when people called him "Master Jock."

A great change had come over the Nabob both externally and internally. His frame had grown so meagre of late that he was unable to wear his former clothes; the fiery flush had disappeared from his face, the drunken puffiness from around his eyes; he spoke gravely with his fellow-men, busied himself about political and national matters, looked into the affairs of his own estates, sought out trustworthy stewards and bailiffs, renounced riotous pastimes, spoke sensibly and intelligibly at the Diet; nobody could imagine what had come to him all at once.

He had one favourite, Mike Kis, who was to be seen with him in every public place. Very often they encountered Abellino, and on all such occasions the Nabob and the Whitsun King would look at each other and smile and whisper as if they were planning some design against Abellino, as if they held in their hands some humorous trump card which would turn the tables gloriously upon the waggish coffin-sender. For all the young _roues_ were still greatly amused at Abellino's masterpiece. The old bucks, on the other hand, had rather more difficulty in grasping the humour of it.

* * * * *

Meanwhile Master Boltay was residing on a little estate he had somewhere among the hills, whither in his first alarm he had conveyed Fanny, and she had hidden away there along with her aunt. Within a week, however, Abellino, who had by no means abandoned the chase, had discovered where they had stowed away the girl, and a few days later Teresa caught one of the servants in the act of popping a suspicious looking letter into Fanny's reading book. Master Boltay discharged that servant on the spot. Nevertheless, there were fresh rumours and alarms every day. Fashionable gentlemen came a-hunting in the neighbourhood of the village near their dwelling, and hit upon a thousand artifices for obtaining admittance. Sometimes disguised lackeys presented themselves in the garb of simple gardeners, but, fortunately, Teresa always recognized their crafty countenances, and let them cool their heels on the doorstep. At other times old gipsy women sneaked into the courtyard whenever they had the chance, and by way of diverting the innocent damsel, showed her in the cards that a terribly great gentleman was in love with her, and would have her, too.

Master Boltay, hearing these things from day to day, became as furious as a bull when the dog-star is in the ascendant. He fumed and fussed and swore he would do dreadful things to any one he might catch on the premises. But, alas! he could catch nobody! The enemy was an airy, agile, artful, experienced creature who was never at the end of his inventions, and had nothing else to think of but how to make a fool of him; while he, with his dull henchman Alexander, was but a stupid, heavy animal, whose horns had to grow before he could butt with them. It was therefore with a very surly look that Master Boltay, standing outside his door one day, beheld a handsome carriage stop in front of his house, and a heyduke assist an elderly Hungarian gentleman to descend therefrom.

The old gentleman approached Master Boltay with a very amicable air, and, bidding the heyduke remain behind, said to the artisan--

"Sir, is this the house of Mr. Boltay?"

The person accosted was so preoccupied that the only answer he gave was to nod his head.

"Then I suppose I have the pleasure of speaking to the worthy master himself?"

Even now Master Boltay was not quite master of his own thoughts, and he could not get it out of his mind that this gentleman had come to pick a quarrel with him.

"Yes, I am; I don't deny it," he replied.

The elderly gentleman smiled, hooked his arm within Master Boltay's, and, in the heartiest manner, invited him to go with him into the house as they must have a long conversation together.

Master Boltay gave way, led the gentleman into the innermost apartment, made him sit down, and remained standing before him to hear what he had to say.

"First of all," said the old gentleman, regarding the master-carpenter with a comical smile--"first of all, allow me to introduce myself. I will begin by saying that I bear a name which will not be exactly music to your ear. I am John Karpathy. Yes! out with the oath that hangs on your lips as loudly and soundly as you like! I know very well that it is not meant for me, but for my nephew, whose name is Bela, but who, fool as he is, has re-christened himself Abellino. You have good cause to curse him, for he has brought misfortune to your house."

"Not yet, sir," said Boltay, "and I hope to God he will not bring it."

"I hope so too; but, alas! the devil never slumbers, especially when pretty girls are about. My nephew has taken upon himself the glorious resolution of seducing your ward."

"I know it, sir; but I am on my guard."

"My good sir, you know not half the artful tricks of the young bucks who have served an apprenticeship in the great world before engaging in such enterprises."

"Stop, sir! One thing I do know. I know that, all because of your nephew, she is condemned to a cloister-like life, and cannot so much as step into the street unless I am with her. And when, at last, I have had too much of this persecution, I will leave my workshop, I will go into another part of the world, I will quit my country, which I love as well as, ay, and ever so much better than, many of those who call themselves the fathers of the fatherland. But till then, sir, till then, never let me catch hold of any of these painted butterflies! I am not a gentleman, I will fight no duel; but I'll smash whomsoever comes in my way--I'll smash 'em like a piece of rotten glass. Just tell that to your dear nephew!"

"Pardon me, my friend, but I am not in the habit of carrying messages to my nephew, neither have I come hither merely to gossip, but to carry out a well-devised thoroughly thought-out plan. I hate this man more than you do. You need not shake your head like that, for so it is. Abellino is my mortal foe, and I am his. You will better understand the amicable relations between us when I tell you that he wishes me to die, and I will not consent, and as in all probability my road to death is much shorter than his, the contest is conducted with very unequal weapons. On my birthday he sent me a coffin as a present, in the expectation that I should make use of it as speedily as possible. Now _his_ birthday is approaching, and I am going to send him, as a present, a beggar's staff, and I hope he will live a long time to use it."

"Well, sir, that is your business, not mine. I am a table-maker; I don't profess to make staves. If you wish to make a present of a beggar's staff, I can recommend you to a turner who lives hard by."

"Master Boltay, don't be so impatient. The staff I spoke of is only an emblem. I have a plan, I say, which you must know of. It would be better if you came and sat down by me and heard me out. Look now! I want Abellino to wait in vain for the hour of my death. I want my estates not to go to him, but to another. Do you understand?"

"Of course! You would cut him off with a shilling."

"Why, man, you understand nothing. My estates are hereditary; I cannot leave them to whom I will--that depends on the law of succession, and the law of succession is eternal. And a nice little inheritance it is too. It deserves to be talked about, I assure you. My annual income exceeds a million and a half!"

"A million and a half!" cried the artisan, in consternation; and he gazed wonderingly at the magnate, as if he scarce believed that any man in the world could be worth a million and a half a year.

"Yes, a million and a half awaits my successor, and even under the sod I should be tortured by the thought that my ancestral estates, for which far better men than I shed their blood, were being scattered to the winds by a worthless descendant, were dribbling away piecemeal and passing into the hands of usurers, shopkeepers, and aliens, and all through the very man who, so far from weeping at my death, will be ready to dance for joy at it. I mean to deprive him of that satisfaction."

"May I give you a piece of advice, sir?"

"There's no need of that. You've only got to listen to me." Then, seizing the hand of the artisan, to rivet his attention the better, he thus proceeded: "There is one way of drawing a blood-red cross through all Abellino's calculations--for I want to draw blood, I want to wound him to the very heart, because he has insulted me--and that one way is for me to marry."

Here Karpathy stopped, and threw himself back in his chair, as if waiting to see what the artisan would say to that. But he only nodded his head, as if he understood the matter completely.

"If a child were to be born to me," continued Karpathy, and, in a sudden outburst of merriment, he banged the table with his fist, "why, it would be enough to make me live my life over again. I am not superstitious, sir; but when I was lying on my death-bed, a heavenly vision gave me the assurance that, to the wonder of my fellows, I should return from the realm of death, though everybody looked upon me as a dead man already; and the mere fact of my recovering my strength and good humour is proof enough to me that that vision was no false dream. I mean to marry. And now you shall hear how that concerns you. You have a young ward--a girl whom Abellino persecutes, and Abellino's associates lay bets with each other as to who shall win her first, as if it were a horse-race. Now, I want to put a stop to this base persecution. I would provide her with a place of refuge so secure, that if all its doors and windows stood right open before him, Abellino would not venture in. That place of refuge is my house!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that I demand from you your ward as my wife!"

"What?"

"My lawful consort, I say. For many years the world has known me under the title of 'the good old fool.' I would employ the remainder of my days in excising the word 'fool' from that title."

Master Boltay slowly arose from beside the table.

"Sir, your honour's offer flatters and amazes me. You are a gentleman, with an annual income of a million and a half; you are incalculably wealthy, like the rich man in the Bible. But I know, sir, that wealth is not happiness. I knew a poor girl whose parents last year gave her in marriage to a rich man, and the next day they drew a suicide out of the Danube. I want to make my ward happy, but I will not give her away for riches or treasures."

Karpathy remained sitting, and gently grasped the artisan's hand.

"Sit down again, my worthy Master Boltay. When first I saw your face, I was prepared for that answer. You certainly would provide a happy, contented future for your ward, and your intention does you honour. You would leave to her a possession that is not to be despised--a safe business, and, perchance, you have also chosen for her a worthy, honest, hard-working, sensible young man, on whose arm she can wander along life's quiet path to the very end. But her destiny is no longer in your power. The girl, unfortunately, springs from a family in whose blood flightiness may be said to have run from the very beginning. She was educated in a school which encouraged ambition, extravagance, and the love of luxury, and the later and more rigorous years of her life have only suppressed, not extinguished, her earlier impressions and recollections. She was wont to see vice feted and sobriety ridiculed. That, sir, is a bad apprenticeship, and it requires no ordinary strength of mind to call that which seems so sweet, bitter, and that which seems so bitter, sweet. Have not you yourself observed how suddenly she cooled towards the poor young fellow you chose for her, when she got the idea into her head that she was going to become a beauty whom the world would envy and adore? Before very much longer she will have her times of _ennui_, of passionate desire; the claims of nature will assert themselves. Then will come moments of bitterness and self-forgetfulness, when she will readily listen to evil counsellors. And who shall save a damsel from falling who herself wishes to fall?"

"I don't believe it, sir. I don't believe what you say. I feel you have spoken the truth, and still I deny it. In general, what you say is right enough; but my darling will be the exception."

"I will not dispute the point. Look now! I don't want to marry your ward against her will. I simply want you to lay my proposal before her: 'A rich nobleman sues for your hand. The suitor is neither young nor handsome, nor even amiable--he might very well pass for your grandpapa; yet the only demands he makes upon you are that you will swear to be his wife, and will honour him as your husband. If you like, he and you shall live in two separate counties, and you shall only see him when you choose to invite him to come and see you. Will you accept his offer?' If the girl says, 'No,' I will be quite content with her answer. We will say no more about the matter, and I will trouble you no further. You will but have done your duty as a guardian. I will give her a week to make up her mind. In a week's time, my confidential agent, who is cooling his heels outside by my carriage, will be sent here--I don't want to carry my basket home myself[10]--to inquire if by any chance I left a diamond ring behind me here. If the answer be a rejection, you will send back this ring by him; if, on the other hand, my proposal be accepted, you will answer that I must come for it myself."

[Footnote 10: In Hungarian, as in German, a rejected lover is said to "receive a basket."]

And with that the gentleman arose, pressed Master Boltay's hand amicably, and left him in a perfect chaos of conflicting thoughts. Impatiently, Boltay began pacing up and down the room. What was he to do? He felt within himself that Karpathy had spoken the truth. The girl would not be able to resist the tempting prospect, and would accept the offer. And thus she must needs be unhappy; and what would be the end of it all? At first he had half a mind to conceal the whole thing from her. But no, that would be unworthy of him; a man really worthy of the name must never conceal the truth.

Suddenly a good idea occurred to him. He had discovered a way out of the difficulty. He hastened to consult Alexander.

That worthy youth had just finished his masterpiece--a splendid writing-table, magnificently carved, with secret drawers impossible to discover. He was quite absorbed in his work.

"Alexander," said his old master, "your handiwork is really a masterpiece."

"I am proud of it myself. I think of it night and day."

"Night and day? And don't you think of anything else, then?"

"I? What else should I think of, pray?"

"Why, that you will be a full master-carpenter the day after to-morrow. Suppose I say that?"

"Oh, I'm sure of that."

"Well, what would you say if I resolved to hand over the whole of my business to you?"

"Ah, sir, you are jesting. Why should you give it all to me?"

"Because I am weary of the worry of it, as you can see, and should like the care of it to repose on younger shoulders. You shall conduct the concern instead of me, and we'll share the profits. Don't you admire my cunning? I want to have an income without any labour."

"I can go on as before; there's no necessity for us to go shares."

"But suppose I wish it? Look now! I have no son, and you are just the son I should like to have had."

Alexander gently raised the old man's hand to his lips, which he placed on his head, as if by way of blessing.

"And then," continued the master, "how nice it will be if you bring a wife home, and I have the joy of a happy domestic life which I have never had yet!"

Alexander sighed. "We shall have to live a long time before we get to that," said he.

"What? Do you want to remain wifeless all your days? Come, don't pull such a holy mug as that! Would you keep your secrets from me, when you know I can see through you as if you were a glass of water? Do you think I don't know whom you love? Speak out! don't be such a coward! Tell the girl you love her, and cannot do without her. Or perhaps you would like me to woo her for you? I shouldn't mind that, I am sure; I should like to be your best man. Well, and now I'll go and ask the girl to have you, and to-morrow you shall have her, and we'll have such a betrothal that the very angels shall dance for joy."

Alexander never said a word; but he cast down his eyes, turned pale, pressed Master Boltay's hand in silence, and then quitted the room.

So long as the lad had been with him, Boltay was all radiant and jocose, but when he had departed, a couple of tears trickled from the old man's eyes. He himself suspected and feared that Alexander loved in vain.

Boltay thought the matter over for some time, and then resolved to first of all ask for Fanny's hand for Alexander--perhaps the girl might still have some kindly feeling for him. If she rejected the proposal, and declared she did not care for the youth at all, he would lay the second offer before her. What would she say to that? Could she possibly be amiable to an old fellow of over seventy, after coldly shutting her heart against a handsome young man?

So the same day Boltay rode out to his country den, which was situated in a romantic little valley in the Carpathians, to pay his ward a visit.

Fanny rushed out to meet Boltay's waggon when he was still a long way off, dragged him down from the coach-box, and, full of childlike gaiety, conducted him all round her little domain; and Boltay kept pinching her cheeks, which were so firm and round that he could scarcely grip hold of them. It was plain that she did not give so much of her time now to melancholy brooding.

"Why, what a good housewife we shall make of you! There's surely nothing in the world you don't know already. We must look you out a husband now."

"Yes, let's have a husband by all means," laughed Fanny, roguishly clipping Master Boltay round the neck, and kissing his stubbly face with her round red lips. "Daddy Boltay is the husband for me!"

"Go along with you, you rogue!" cried Master Boltay, scarce able to contain himself for joy. "Why, I'm older than your father. Let us look for some one who will suit you."

"All right, Daddy Boltay, the sooner the better. But first go and see Aunt Teresa, and in the mean time I'll run off and get supper ready."

Master Boltay hastened to seek Teresa, and make her acquainted with the interesting situation.

The magnate's proposal overwhelmed her likewise, and she too could promise Alexander very little success. Teresa had often tried the heart of the girl, she had often unexpectedly mentioned the youth's name to her, and the girl had always remained cold. She respected, she praised him, but that is not love.

All through supper Boltay was cracking jokes with his ward, who responded with great alacrity, and gave him back as good as he gave her. At last the servants removed the table, and the three remained together alone.

And now Master Boltay's good humour changed into grave solemnity, and he drew the girl towards him by both hands.

"You have a suitor," said he; "tell me straight out if you suspect who it is."

The girl sighed, but made no reply.

"Your suitor is a worthy young man, an honest, honourable fellow, a good liver, a diligent mechanic, and handsome to boot, and, which is the main thing, he has for a long time loved you truly, loyally, and ardently."

"I know. You mean Alexander," replied the girl.

Master Boltay stopped short, although there was nothing very extraordinary in the fact that the girl knew his secret. Both of them hung upon Fanny's next words.

"Poor Alexander!" sighed the girl.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because he loves me. Why cannot he find a better, more reliable girl than I, to make him happy?"

"Then you don't want to marry him?" asked the old man, sadly.

"If it would give you any pleasure, I am ready to marry him."

"Give me pleasure, indeed! I want you to please yourself, girl. The lad is such a worthy fellow, that seek as you like you will not find a better. He is no mere blockhead, like the ordinary workman; he has travelled in foreign parts, he can stand up before anybody; and then he loves you so much."

"I know; I admit it. I have always respected him, worthy man that he is; but love him I cannot. I will marry him, I will be faithful to him to the day of my death, but he will be unhappy, and so shall I."

Boltay sighed; and in a few moments he said, in a scarcely audible voice, "Then, don't marry him."

The tears flowed involuntarily from the eyes of the two old people. They loved the young folks as if they were their own children; and oh, how they would have liked to have seen them happy together! And Fate willed otherwise!

At last Boltay brushed the sweat off his forehead with his hand, and said, with a great effort at composure, "Get up, my girl! Overrule your heart I cannot; it would be wrong. He certainly could not accept your hand without your love. No, let us talk of something else. You have another suitor. A great and rich gentleman would make you his wife; he has an illustrious name and an honourable title, it takes him a whole week to ride over his estates, and he has an annual income of a million and a half."

Fanny cast down her eyes and shook her head. Then she answered coldly and sensibly, "That would mean good luck, but not happiness."

"It is true," continued Boltay, "that your second suitor is not young; but, instead of love, he promises you ease and a high position."

"Who is it?"

"His name will not have a very pleasant sound in your ears, for it is a gentleman of the same name who is the cause of most of your troubles; he is John Karpathy, the uncle of that tempter at church."

Here the girl burst out laughing.

"Ah, yes! the man like a fat spider."

"His figure has improved since then."

"Whom they consider such a lunatic."

"He is much wiser now."

"And who is always drinking and making merry with peasant girls."

"He has completely changed his mode of life now."

"Ah, my dear guardian, this is only a joke, surely, or, if it be a serious business, you only want to make fun of it. Now, look here, Daddy Boltay, first of all, when I told you to marry and I would be your wife, you said you might be my grandfather, and now you offer me Master Jock as a husband. What do you mean by it?"

Master Boltay was delighted. He laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Then the cast-iron truisms of ancient experience were false after all, and it was possible to find one childish soul strong enough to reject the dazzling allurements of wealth, even when it had only to stretch out its hand and find power at the tips of its fingers along with an engagement-ring!

"Look now!" replied Master Boltay; "the gentleman left this ring with me, and I am to send it back in case you reject his offer."

"Did he give you a basket with it?" inquired the roguish damsel.

"No need of that; I knew how it would turn out," replied Boltay, laughing.

And, indeed, he was beside himself with joy. His sorrow for Alexander was quite obliterated by the delight he felt that his ward should have exhibited such strength of mind. He pictured to himself how proud he would feel to be able to say to the magnate, "You promised to give a million and a half for the roses on my ward's cheeks, did you? Thank you, but I'll not part with her even at that price." How high he would hold his head before those young dandies who fancied they could buy Fanny's love for a few shameful thousands of florins, wretched beggars that they were!

So the two old people kissed the girl and bade her good night, and they all went to their several rooms. The night was far advanced; it was time to lie down, and yet it was no time for sleeping. Some unruly spirit was about who chased slumber from everybody's eyes.

Master Boltay's brain was chock-full of all the speeches that he meant to make here, there, and everywhere as if he were preparing to be the mouth-piece of the whole town. Teresa's mind was wandering among the events of the present and the past, trying to throw light upon all the manifold contradictions of a young maiden's heart, and find out how much therein was good or bad, instinct or free will.

But it was from Fanny's eyes that the genius of slumber kept furthest away.

Only one thought, one idea now lived in her heart--the face of that man whom she loved, whose shape she crowned with the flowers of her devotion, whom she pictured to herself as noble, grand, and glorious, with the memory of whom her heart was full, whose smiling figure she always conjured up before her when no living face was near her, and oh, then, how good it was to rest in its contemplation!

She had no longer a thought for the twofold offer presented to her by her guardian, the inspiration of these sublime moments erased from her recollection the gloomy-faced youth and the grotesque old man, both of whom wanted to make her their wife.

Where is he now--the unknown, the unnameable, the unforgettable ideal? Most certainly he has no idea that a heart is pining for him in secret, in tribulation, just as the moon is quite unconscious of the lunatic who pursues her rays and leaps across dizzy abysses in order to get nearer to her!

How blessed the lot of those ladies of the great world who can see him every day, speak to, admire, and honour him! Perhaps one among them is his chosen bride! No, nobody could love him so truly, oh, so truly as she would have done. She would never, never tell him so, but she should love him to the death!

Why was it that she could never hope to even get near him?

Never?

Suddenly a strange thought arose in her mind. It would only cost her a single word, and the doors of the haughtiest, the most illustrious houses would fly open before her, and she would stand in the same rank, in the same atmosphere as those lofty, those envied ladies who were at liberty to behold the face and hear the voice of her adored idol.

A shudder ran through her at the thought.

Yes, this goal would be reached if she gave her hand to Karpathy. A single step would raise her at once into this seemingly unattainable world.

She rejected the thought, only for a moment did her soul retain it, and then she brushed it away.

What would her good friends and kinsfolk Boltay and Teresa say, if she refused a fine, manly, noble-hearted youth, and, for the sake of money and splendour, accepted the hand of a dotard she did not love?

But again, there were other kinsfolk whom, if she took this step, she could make happy, whom she could rescue from bitter shame, reproach, and wretchedness--her mother and sisters. If she were rich, she could save them from their horrible fate.

Yes, good damsel, yes; thou wilt have no lack of reasons, but it is no tender regard for thy friends or thy relations which leads thee on. No; 'tis Love that goes before thee with his torch, and he will lead thee through the worlds of good and evil--all the rest is mere fustian. Go, then, towards thy Fate!

At last the whole house slept. Sleep on, for sleep brings with it good counsel.

Next morning a strange surprise awaited the two old guardians. Fanny told Boltay that if old Karpathy should send for the ring, it was not to be sent back to him, but he was to come for it himself. _

Read next: Chapter 9. The Hunter In The Snare

Read previous: Chapter 7. The Nabob's Birthday

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