My blood grew cold within me. We were approaching some robbers' den evidently.
The coachman answered the question from his box with the voice of a man who is already being throttled.
"That, your ladyship, is the pot-house which the country people call the 'guest-detaining _csarda_.'"[9]
[Footnote 9: Inn.]
"Guest detaining! Bravo! The very thing for us. Let's hasten thither."
I was desperate. "For God's sake, Countess, what would you do? Why, that _csarda_ is a notorious resort of thieves, where they would kill the whole lot of us; a regular murder-hole, whose landlord is hand in glove with all the ruffians of the district, and where numbers and numbers of people have come to an evil end."
The naughty girl only laughed at me. She told me I had read all these horrors in the story-books, and there was not a word of truth in any of them. She admitted, indeed, that if there had been another inn she would have gone to that in preference, but as this was the only one we had no choice. She then ordered the coachman to drive the horses along very gingerly, while she went before on foot to show him the way.
Every lamentation and objection was useless, we had to stumble along in the direction of that cursed _csarda_, for she threatened to go alone if we were afraid to come too.
It is a fact that that naughty little fairy was afraid of nothing.
When we drew nearer to the _csarda_, a merry hullabooing sort of music suddenly struck upon our ears, though all the windows were closed by shutters.
"_Mon Dieu!_ it is absolutely _full_ of robbers."
"You see how it is," remarked the Countess, mischievously; "we started to go to a ball, and at a ball we have arrived. _No_ one, you see, can avoid his fate"--and thereupon, with appalling foolhardiness, she marched straight towards the door.
For a moment I really thought I should have turned tail, left her there, and made a bolt of it. But, _noblesse oblige_. And besides, I couldn't, for Mademoiselle Cesarine, the lady's-maid, had gripped my arm so tightly that I was powerless to release myself. The poor creature was more than half dead with fright; at any rate, she was only half alive when we followed the Countess together.
Even outside the door we could hear quite distinctly the wild dance-music and the merry uproar proceeding from a parcel of men inside; but my Countess was not a bit put out by it. Boldly she opened the door and stepped into the _csarda_.
It was a large, long, dirty, whitewashed room, where in my first terror I could see about fifty men dancing about. Subsequently, when I was able to count them, there turned out to be only nine of them, including the landlord, who did not dance, and three gipsies who provided the music.
But it seemed to me that five stalwart ruffians were quite enough to deal with our little party.
They were all tall fellows, who could easily hit the girders of the roof with their clenched fists, and strapping fellows too, with big, broad shoulders; their five muskets were piled up together in a corner.
Well, we were in a pretty tight place, it seemed to me. The rascals when they saw us instantly left off dancing, and seemed to be amazed at our audacity. But my Countess said to them, with a charming smile--
"Forgive me, my friends, for interrupting your pastime. We have lost our way, and as we couldn't go any further in the dark, we have come here for shelter, if you will give it to us."
At these words one of the fellows, sprucer and slimmer a good deal than the others, gave his spiral moustache an extra twirl, took off his vagabond's hat, clapped his heels together, and made my Countess a profound bow. He assured her she was not inconveniencing them in the least; on the contrary, they would be very glad of her society. "I am the master here," he added, "Jozsi Fekete" (the famous robber, by the way), "at your ladyship's service. But who, then, is your ladyship?"
Before I could pull the Countess's mantilla to prevent her from blurting out who she was, she had already replied: "I am the Countess Repey, from Kerekvar."
"Then I am indeed fortunate," said the rascal. "I knew the old Count. He fired after me with a double musket on one occasion, though he did not hit me. Pray sit down, Countess."
A pleasant introduction, I must say.
The Countess sat down on a bench, the fellow beside her; me they didn't ask to take a seat at all.
"And where did your ladyship think of going on such a night?"
(I winked at her: "Don't tell him.")
"We were going to Arad, to the Casino ball."
("Adieu all our jewels," I thought.)
"Oh, then you have come here just at the nick of time. Your ladyship need not go a step further, for we are giving a ball here, if you do not despise our invitation. We have very good gipsy musicians--the Szalenta band, you know. They can play splendid _csardases_."
The rascal didn't stand on ceremony in the least, but no sooner did they begin dashing off the _csardas_, than he threw his buttoned dolman half over his shoulder, and seizing the Countess round the waist, twirled her off amidst the lot of them.
Another fellow immediately hastened up to Mademoiselle Cesarine, and ravished her away in a half-fainting condition; but she had no need to think of herself, for she was passed from one hand to another so that her feet never touched the ground.
As for my Countess, she excelled herself. She danced with as much fire and vivacity as if she were sweeping over the waxed floor of the assembly rooms at Arad. Never have I seen her so amiable, so charming, as she was at that moment. I have seen Hungarian dances at other times, and have always been struck by their quaintness, but nobody ever showed me how much there was really in them as that good-for-nothing rascal showed me then.
First of all he paced majestically round with his partner, as if this were the proudest moment of his life, gazing haughtily down upon her from over his shoulder; then he would shout down the music when at its loudest--and it was pretty loud too--and emerge from the midst of the throng after his partner, she all the time swaying modestly backwards and forwards before him, like a butterfly which touches every flower but lights on none; and, indeed, I am only speaking the truth when I say that her feet never seemed to touch the earth. The fellow, foppishly enough, would keep bending towards her as if he were about to embrace her on the spot, and then would stop short, stamping with one foot and flinging back his head haughtily, alluring the enchanting little fairy hither and thither after him. Sometimes he would rush right up to her as if about to cast himself upon her bosom, and then, with a sudden twirl, would be far away from her again, and only the glances of their eyes showed that they were partners. Presently, as if in high dudgeon, he would turn away from his partner, plant himself right in front of the gipsy musicians, and prance furiously up and down before them, and after thus dancing away his anger, suddenly patter back to the Countess, and seize and whirl her round and round as if he were a hurricane and she a leaping flame.
During this spacious pastime I was constantly agonized by the thought that perhaps this mad rogue in his excitement might permit himself some unbecoming demonstration towards the Countess. The temptation you know was great. The Countess was entirely in his power, the fellow was a gallows-bird, with the noose half round his neck already; an extra misdeed or two, more or less, could do him no further harm. I was firmly resolved that if he insulted the Countess by the least familiarity, I would make a rush for the piled-up muskets, seize one of them, and shoot the villainous trifler dead. I affirm on my honour that this I was firmly resolved to do.
But there was no necessity for it. The dancers finished the three dances, the robber-chief politely conducted his partner back to her place, and respectfully kissed her hand, after thanking her heartily for her kindness; and with that he approached me, and amicably tapping me on the shoulder, inquired--
"Well, old chap, can't _you_ dance?"
Fancy calling me old chap.
"Thank you," I said, "I cannot."
"More's the pity;" and back he went to the Countess.
"I beg your ladyship's pardon," he began, "for not being sufficiently prepared for the reception of such distinguished guests, but I hope you will indulgently accept what we have to offer you; it is not much, but it is good."
So he meant to give us not only the ball, but the supper after it.
And a splendid banquet it was, I must say. A large caldron full of stewed calf's flesh was produced, put upon the long table, and we all took our places round it. Of plates and dishes there was no trace. Every one used his own claws, by which I mean to say that, with a hunk of bread in one hand, and a clasp-knife in the other, we fished up our marrow-bones from the caldron itself.
As for my Countess, she fell to as if she had been starving for three days. The robber-chief fished up for her, with his brass-studded clasp-knife, the reddest morsels of flesh (they literally swam in pepper), and piled them up on her white roll. It was something splendid, I can tell you.
Suddenly it occurred to the rascal that _I_ was not eating.
"Fall to, old chap," said he. "Stolen goods make the fattest dishes, you know."
Nice company, eh?
"Thank you, I can't eat it; it is too much peppered," I said.
"All right; so much the more for us."
The wine, naturally, was sent round _in the flask_; not a glass was to be seen. Jozsi Fekete, as is the way with boors, first drank from the flask himself, and then, having wiped the mouth of it with his wide shirt-sleeve, presented it to the Countess. And, bless my heart, she took it, and drank out of it. An amazing woman, really!
Then the flippant rogue turned to me, and offered me a drink.
"Come, drink away, old chap," he said (why always harp upon my grey hairs), "for of course you are going to make a night of it."