Part 4 (2/2)
The year was a few weeks older since we saw Tokoly depart from Rumnik, after reading the three letters, and behold, Michael Teleki still lingered at Gyulafehervar, and had _not_ gone with the Transylvanian forces to Deva.
He had been feeling ill for some days, and had not been able to leave his room. A slow fever tormented his limbs, his face had lost its colour, he was hardly able to hold himself up, and every joint ached whenever he moved. He had need of repose, but not a single moment could he have to himself, and just when he would have liked to have shown the door to every worry and bother, the Prince at one moment, and the Turkish Amba.s.sador at another, were continually pressing their affairs upon him.
At that moment his crony Nalaczi was with him, standing at the window, while Teleki sat in an arm-chair. All his members were shaken by the ague, his breath was burning hot, his face was as pale as wax, and he could scarce keep his lips together.
By his chair stood his page--young Cserei--whilst huddled up in a corner on one side was a scarce visible figure which clung close to the wall with as miserable, shamefaced an expression as if it would have liked to crawl right into it and be hidden. What with the darkness and its own miserableness, we should scarce recognise this shape if Teleki did not chance to give it a name, railing at it, from time to time, as if it were a lifeless log, without even looking at it, for, in truth, his back was turned upon it.
”I tell you, Master Szenasi, you are an infinitely useless blockhead----”
”I humbly beg----”
”Don't beg anything. Here have I, worse luck, been entrusting you with a small commission, in order that you might impart some wholesome information to the people, and instead of that you go and fool them with all sorts of old wives' stories.”
”Begging your Excellency's pardon, I thought----”
”Thought? What business had you to think? You thought, perhaps, you were doing me a service with your nonsense, eh?”
”Mr. Nalaczi said as much, your Excellency.”
Mr. Nalaczi seemed to be sitting on thorns all this while.
”Now just see what a big fool you are,” interrupted Teleki. ”Mr. Nalaczi _may_ have told you, for what I know, that it might be well for you to use your influence with the common people by mentioning before them the wonders which have recently taken place, and thereby encouraging them to be loyal and friendly to each other, but I am sure he did not tell you to manufacture wonders on your own account, and terrify the people by spreading abroad rumours of coming war.”
”I thought----” Here he stopped short, the worthy man was quite incapable at that moment of completing his sentence.
”Thought! You thought, I suppose, that just as I was collecting armies, you would do me a great service by preaching war? So far as I am concerned, I should like to see every sword buried in the earth.”
”Begging your Excellency's pardon----”
”Get out of my sight. Never let me see you again. In three days you must leave Transylvania, or else I'll send you out, and you won't thank me for that.”
”May I humbly ask what I am to do if your Excellency withdraws your favour from me?” whined the fellow.
”You may do as you like. Go to Szathmar and become the lacquey of Baron Kopp, or the scribe of Master Kaszonyi. I'm just going to write to them.
I'll mention your name in my letter, and you can take it.”
”And if they won't accept me?”
”Then you must tack on to someone else, anyhow you shan't starve. Only get out of my sight as quickly as possible.”
The ”magister” withdrew in fear and trembling, wiping his eyes with his pocket-handkerchief.
”Sir,” said Nalaczi, when they were alone together, ”this violence does harm.”
”The only way with such fellows is to bully them whatever they do, for they are deceivers and traitors at heart, and would otherwise do you mischief. Kick and beat them, chivy them from pillar to post, and make them feel how wretched their lot is, if you don't want them to play off their tricks upon you.”
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