Part 9 (2/2)
Old Kishlaki, misled by the excitement of the day, had taken rather more wine than he ought to have done; his ideas were consequently less steady than they might have been. A match between Miss Rety and his son had always been among his pet projects. Urged on by the conviviality of the day, he had undertaken to address the Retys, and to solicit their daughter's hand for Mr. Kalman Kishlaki, his son and heir. Rety's answer to this unexpected offer was that he could not presume to judge of his daughter's inclinations; and the Lady Rety, in her turn, gave Mr.
Kishlaki to understand that it would be more wise to reserve matters of such moment for the period after the election. The good man was too much excited to understand the real meaning of these answers. He fancied that everything was arranged; and, walking from group to group, he told the great secret to every one whom he met.
The Cortes were meanwhile actively employed in rehearsing their votes for the election. They had already disposed of some of the lower places, and they now proceeded to elect Kalman Kishlaki a justice of the district. They strained every nerve of their lungs in shouting ”Eljen Kalman Kishlaki!” Old Kishlaki was transported with joy, but he was grieved that his son's glorification should be lost within the walls of the barn. He called his servant, and informing him of the great secret, he hinted at the pleasure Miss Rety was sure to feel if the Cortes were to seize Kalman and to carry him in triumph to her room. The servant was, of course, quite of his master's opinion. He made his way to the barn, shouted ”Halljuk!” and spoke so much to the purpose that the whole crowd of electors consented to accompany him to the garden. We ought to observe that Kishlaki's messenger gained his point chiefly by informing the Cortes of the proposed alliance between Etelka and Kalman.
The three hundred n.o.blemen of St. Vilmosh set up a deafening shout of ”Eljen!” and directed their steps to the garden, while old Kishlaki wept with joy, and muttered: ”Hej! it is a fine thing to be so popular!”
Akosh and Kalman were close to the house when they met Kishlaki with all the Cortes at his heels. The old man had just time to embrace his son, and to cry out, ”Do you hear it, Kalman? This is meant for you, my boy!”
The very next moment they were surrounded by the men of St. Vilmosh.
Their shout of ”Eljen Kalman Kishlaki! Etelka Rety!” put a stop to all further conversation. The two young men were astonished. They did not know what to do or to say. But when old Kishlaki's servant proposed that the young man should be taken to ”Miss Etelka, his betrothed bride;” and when a score of arms were stretched out to seize the fortunate lover, then it was that Kalman began to see how matters stood. He resisted, he prayed, he imprecated; and his father, too, who had no idea of proclaiming the affair in _this_ way, did his utmost to prevail upon them to leave Miss Rety's name unmentioned. His endeavours were in vain.
Kalman's resistance was of no avail. There was a sudden rush--a scuffle--and he found himself hoisted on the shoulders of a couple of stout fellows. His hair was dishevelled and his coat torn. He had lost his cravat and his hat. But the crowd, unmindful of these drawbacks to the personal graces of their favourite, bore him onward to the apartments of his mistress. Great was the uproar, and violent were their cheers of ”Eljen Kalman and Etelka!”
The guests in the house rushed to the door, and, hearing the names of Kalman and Etelka, they turned to the sheriff and wished him joy. Mr.
Rety received their congratulations with a sickly smile. Lady Rety, though mindful of Kishlaki's influence, protested with some warmth that there must be some mistake. But Karvay raised his powerful voice in honour of the young couple, whose St. Vilmosh friends had by this time arrived at the threshold of Etelka's room.
Kalman was more dead than alive. He was about to appear before the lady of his love with his coat torn and his hair out of curl, and borne on the arms of three hundred Cortes! Entreaties, tears, imprecations--all were in vain; and they certainly would have introduced him to Miss Rety in the most disgraceful plight that ever lover faced his mistress in, if that lady had been in the room. But, when the door opened, they discovered in her stead Rosi, Miss Rety's maid, and at her side no less a personage than the hopeful notary of St. Vilmosh. This event brought matters to a favourable crisis. Akosh interfered, and pointing out to the a.s.sembly that a justice must needs have a juror, and that n.o.body was better qualified to fill that office than his friend, the notary of St.
Vilmosh, he caused that gifted individual to be raised on the arms of the Cortes, who carried him after the justice that was to be, and at length presented both justice and juror to the sheriff.
It need scarcely be said that Rosi was greatly shocked, but she became comforted on beholding her beloved notary on the shoulders of the Cortes, and when she understood that the public voice designated her chosen husband to fill the office of juror. She busied herself with arranging the things in the room, which had been put in disorder by the tumultuous entry of the Cortes. While she was thus occupied she heard Mr. Catspaw's voice in the next room (which was his own). He was, it appears, in the act of dismissing some individual, for he said:--
”Well, then, at seven o'clock precisely, near the notary's garden.”
”Yes, your lords.h.i.+p! I mean to be punctual, your lords.h.i.+p,” said another voice, which, though Oriental, did not seem to belong to a Hungarian.
”You know your reward,” rejoined Mr. Catspaw, as his interlocutor left the room.
”Confusion!” exclaimed the frightened maid. ”Mr. Catspaw was in his room! He knows all now, for he is wondrous sharp of hearing. What if he were to peach to my lady?” And uttering maledictions on the head of the attorney and his Jew, Rosi locked the door of her mistress's room and made the best of her way to the kitchen.
The sheriff had meanwhile informed the most influential of his guests that he wished them to meet him for the purpose of a consultation. The Dons of the county a.s.sembled in the dining-room, which had been arranged for the sittings of a committee. In a corner of this room, which was ornamented with Rety's family portraits, and which still retained a faint smell of the dinner, there were three men of note standing together. They were Mr. Slatzanek, the agent and plenipotentiary of the Count Kovary; Baron Shoskuty; and Mr. Kriver, the recorder. Their conversation ran in the most natural course, that is to say, it turned on the chances of the election.
”Are you sure,” said Mr. Slatzanek, addressing the recorder, ”of that wretched Vetshosy having joined Bantornyi's party?”
”I grieve to say that there can be no doubt about it.”
”Did I not always tell you,” cried the Baron--”did I not tell you a thousand times that I suspected Vetshosy? Three years ago, just a fortnight before the election, on a Friday afternoon, unless I am mistaken, I met you, Mr. Kriver, at the coffee-house. There were some of us, and some officers likewise, and I lighted my pipe and sat by you, and I said: 'That fellow Vetshosy----'”
”You were quite right, sir; but----”
”That fellow Vetshosy, said I, is a liberal, and, what is worse, he talks of his principles; he has some property, and----”
”Just so!” interposed Slatzanek. ”Vetshosy is an influential man; the more fools we for making him justice of a district in which there are so many votes; but----”
”I know what you are about to say!” cried the Baron. ”He might be gained over. Now, I'll tell you, I live in his district. Very well then, what do you say to a hunt--a legal hunt--a wolf hunt? We will have the peasants to drive the game. You will all come, and he, as justice of the district, must be one of us. Of course our wolf hunt is but a legal fiction, but he, as district judge, must be one of us, and we'll snare him, that we will.”
”Alas!” sighed the recorder, ”this is well and good; but the great obstacle is your son, the young Baron. He has more influence in the county than you have, and he is against us.”
”Devil of a boy! devil of a boy!” cried the Baron, ”and yet how often did I not say: My son Valentine----”
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