The following morning, after a very satisfactory breakfast, the gentlemen took leave of their amiable hostess, Bernat bácsi lingering behind the rest to whisper significantly:
“I will not say farewell, Katinka hugom, for I am coming back to tell you all about it.” Then he took his place in the extra post-chaise, and bade the postilion drive directly to the neighboring castle. The Nameless Castle was built on a narrow tongue of land that extended into Lake Neusiedl. The road to the castle gate ran along a sort of causeway, which was protected from the water by a strong bulwark composed of fascines, and a row of willows with knotty crowns. A drawbridge at the farther end made it necessary for the person who wished to enter the gate to ask permission.
On ringing the bell, there appeared at the gate the servant who has already been described,—the groom, coachman, and man of all work in one person. He had on a handsome livery, white gloves, white stockings, and shoes without heels.
“Is the count at home?” inquired the vice-palatine.
“He is.”
“Announce us. I am the vice-palatine of the county, and wish to pay an official visit.”
“The Herr Count is already informed of the gentlemen’s arrival, and bids them welcome.”
This certainly was getting on smoothly enough! And the most convincing proof of a hearty welcome was that the stately groom himself hastened to remove the luggage from the chaise and carry it into the vestibule—a sign that the guests were expected to make a visit of some duration.
Now, however, something curious happened.
Before the groom opened the hall door, he produced three pairs of socks, woven of strands of cloth,— mamuss they are called in this region,—and respectfully requested the visitors to draw them over their boots.
“And why, pray?” demanded the astonished vice-palatine.
“Because in this house the clatter of boots is not considered pleasant; and because the socks prevent boots from leaving dusty marks on the carpets.”
“This is exactly like visiting a powder-magazine.” But they had to submit and draw their socks over their yellow boots, and, thus equipped, they ascended the staircase to the reception-room.
An air of almost painful neatness reigned in all parts of the castle. Stairs and corridors were covered with coarse white cloth, the sort used for peasants’ clothing in Hungary. The walls were hung with glossy white paper. Every door-latch had been polished until it glistened. There were no cobwebs to be seen in the corners; nor would a spider have had anything to prey upon here, for there were no flies, either. The floor of the reception-room into which the visitors had been conducted shone like a mirror, and not a speck of dust was to be seen on the furniture.
“The Herr Count awaits your lordship in the salon,” announced the groom, and conducted Herr Bernat into the adjoining chamber. Here, too, the furniture was white and gold. The oil-paintings in the rococo frames represented landscapes, fruit pieces, and game; there was not a portrait among them.
Beside the oval table with tigers’ feet stood the mysterious occupant of the Nameless Castle. He was a tall man, with knightly bearing, expressive face, a high, broad forehead left uncovered by his natural hair, a straight Greek nose, gray eyes, a short mustache and pointed beard, which where a shade lighter than his hair.
“ Magnifice comes —” the vice-palatine was beginning in Latin, when the count interposed:
“I speak Hungarian.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the visitor, whose astonishment was reflected in his face. “Hungarian? Why, where can your worship have learned it?”
“From the grammar.”
“From the grammar?” For the vice-palatine this was the most astounding of all the strange things about the mysterious castle. Had he not always known that Hungarian could only be learned by beginning when a child and living in a Hungarian family? That any one had learned the language as one learns the hic, hæc, hoc was a marvel that deserved to be recorded. “From the grammar?” he repeated. “Well, that is wonderful! I certainly believed I should have to speak Latin to your worship. But allow me to introduce my humble self—”
“I already have the honor,” quietly interrupted the count, “of knowing that you are Herr Vice-palatine Bernat Görömbölyi von Dravakeresztur.”
He repeated the whole name without a single mistake!
The vice-palatine bowed, and began again:
“The object of my visit to-day is—”
Again he was interrupted.
“I know that also,” said the count. “The Fertöszeg estate has passed into the hands of another proprietor, who has a legal right to withdraw the lease and revoke the conditions made and agreed to by her predecessor; and the Herr Vice-palatine is come, at the request of the baroness, to serve a notice to quit.”
Herr Bernat did not like it when any one interrupted him or knew beforehand what he intended to say.
“On the contrary, I came because the baroness desires to renew the lease. She has learned how kind to the poor your worship is, and offers the castle and park at half the rent paid heretofore.” He fancied this would melt the haughty lord of the castle, but it seemed to increase his hauteur.
“Thanks,” frigidly responded the count. “If the baroness thinks the rent too high, she will find in her own neighborhood poor people whom she can assist. I shall continue to pay the same rent I paid to the former owner.”
“Then my business will be easily settled. I have brought my clerk with me; he can write out the necessary papers, and the matter can be concluded at once.”
“Thank you very much,” returned the count, but without offering to shake hands. Instead, he kept his arms crossed behind his back.
“Before we proceed to business,” resumed the vice-palatine, “I must tell your worship an anecdote. A professor once told his pupils that he knew everything. Shortly afterward he asked one of the lads what his name was. ‘Why,’ responded the youth, ‘how does it come that you don’t know my name—you who know everything?’ ”
“I cannot see why you thought it necessary to relate this anecdote to me,” observed the count, without a smile.
“I introduce it because I am compelled to inquire your worship’s name and title, in order to draw up the contracts properly.”
This, then, was the strategem by which he proposed to learn the name which no one yet had been able to decipher on the count’s letters?
The count gazed fixedly for several seconds at his questioner, then replied quietly:
“My name is Count Ludwig Vavel de Versay—with a y after the a.”
“Thanks. I shall not forget it; I have a very good memory,” said Herr Bernat, who was perfectly satisfied with his success. “Allow me, also, to inquire the family name of the worshipful Frau Countess?”
At this question the count at last removed his hands from his back, and with the sort of gesture a man makes who would tear asunder an adversary. At the same time he cast upon Herr Bernat a glance that reminded the valiant official of the royal commissioner, as well as of his energetic spouse at home. The angry man seemed to have increased a head in stature.
Instead of replying to the question, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving his visitor standing in the middle of the floor. Herr Bernat was perplexed; he did not know what to do next. Was it not quite natural to ask the name of a man’s wife when a legal contract was to be written? His question, therefore, had not been an insult.
At last, as the count did not return, there was nothing left for Herr Bernat to do but go to his room and wait there for further developments. The contracts would have to be renewed, else the count would have to vacate the castle; and one could easily see that a great deal of money had been expended in fitting it up. The count had transformed the old hunting-seat, which had been a filthy little nest, into a veritable fairy castle. Yes, undoubtedly the contracts would be renewed.
The vice-palatine was pacing the floor of his room in his noiseless cloth socks, when he suddenly heard the voices of his clerk and his servant outside the door.
“Well, Janos, we are not going to dine here to-day; from what I can learn, we are going to be eaten ourselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“The groom told me his master was loading his pistols to shoot some one. The count challenges to a duel every one who inquires after the countess.”
The voices ceased. The vice-palatine opened wide his eyes, and muttered:
“May the devil fly away with him! He wants to fight a duel, does he? I am not afraid of his pistols; I have one, too, and a sword into the bargain. But it’s a silly business altogether! I am to fight about a woman I haven’t even seen! And what will my wife say? I wish I hadn’t come into this crazy castle! I wish I hadn’t sealed a compact of fraternity with the baroness! Why did not I leave this whole installation business to the second vice-palatine? If only I could think of an excuse to turn my back on this lunatic asylum! But I am not going to run away from a pistol. The Hungarian noble is a born soldier. If only I had my pipe! A man is only half a man without his pipe. A pipe inspires one with ideas. Where, I wonder, is that Audiat gadding?”
At this moment the clerk opened the door.
“Fetch our luggage, Audiat; we are going to leave this damned lunatic asylum. The Herr Count may see to it then how he renews his lease.” Hereupon he kicked off the socks with such vigor that the very castle shook. Then, grasping his sword in his hand, he marched out of his room, and down the staircase, to prove that he was not fleeing like a coward, but was clearing his way by force.
When the clerk, who went to fetch the luggage, was about to enter the groom’s apartment, the count came toward him and said:
“You are the vice-palatine’s clerk?”
“That’s what they call me.”
“When do you expect to become a lawyer?”
“When I have passed my examination.”
“When will that be?”
“When I have served a year as jurat, and have paid a ducat for my diploma.”
“I will give you the ducat, and when you have become a lawyer I will employ you as my attorney at six hundred guilders a year. I know that a Hungarian gentleman will not accept a gift without making some return; I ask you, therefore, to give me for this ducat some information.”
“What is it you wish to know?”
“How can I obtain possession of a portion of Lake Neusiedl for my own use alone?”
“By becoming a naturalized citizen of the county, and by purchase of a portion of the shore. I dare say there are some landowners on the shore who would be glad to part with their possessions in exchange for solid cash. If you buy such an estate you will have sole right to that part of the water in front of your property, and to the middle of the lake.”
“Thank you. One more question: if you were my attorney, what could you do to prevent me from being ejected from this castle, in case I did not sign a new contract with the present owner?”
“First, I should take advantage of the law of possession, and drag the case through a twelve years’ process; then I should appeal, which would postpone a settlement for three years longer. Would that be long enough?”
“Quite!”
The count nodded a farewell to the youthful jurist without even inquiring his name; nor did Audiat venture to propound a like question to his future employer.
Bernat bácsi did not, as he had promised, return to the manor to tell the baroness the result of his visit. He drove direct to his home.