Debts of Honor. Mór Jókai
who now began to understand the enigma of the dead lying in their wooden coffins: "perhaps that is a cellar?"
"Of course: I never had a better cellar than that."
"And the dead, and the coffins?"
"Twenty-five round coffins, full of wine. Come, my dear sir, taste them all. I assure you you won't regret it."
The magistrate was now really in a fury: fury made a lion of him, so that he was quite capable of tearing his wrists by sheer force out of the imprisoning hands.
"An end to all familiarity! You stand before the authority of the law, with whom you cannot trifle. Give me the keys of the cloister, that I may clean the profaned place."
"Please break open the door."
"Would you not be sorry to ruin a patent lock?" suggested the lawyer.
"Well, promise me that you will taste at least 'one' brand: then I will open the door, for I don't intend to open any door under the title of 'cloister,' but any number under the title of 'cellar;' and in that case I shall pay in ready money."
The worthy lawyer tugged at the magistrate's sleeve; prudence yielded, and there are bounds to severity, too.
"Very well, the lawyer will taste the wine, but I am no drinker."
Topándy whispered some words in his butler's ears, whereupon that worthy suddenly disappeared.
"So you see, my dear fellow, we are agreed at last: now I should like to see the account of how much I owe to the county for my slight upon the Brotherhood."
"Here is the calculation: two hundred florins with costs, which amount to three florins, thirty kreuzer."
(This happened thirty years ago.)
"Further?"
"Further, the repair of the damage caused by you, the expenses of the present expedition, the daily pay and sustenance of the stone-masons aforesaid: making in all a sum total of two hundred and forty-three florins, forty kreuzers."
"A large sum, but I shall produce it from somewhere."
With the words Topándy drew out from his chest a drawer, and carrying it bodily as it was, put it down on the great walnut table, before the authorities of the law.
"Here it is!"
The interesting members of the law first drew back in alarm, and then commenced to roar with laughter. That drawer was filled with—I cannot express it in one word—but generally speaking—with paper.
A great variety of aged bank notes, some before the depreciation of value, others of a late date, still in currency: long bank-notes, black bank-notes, red spotted bank-notes; then, old cards: Hungarian, Swiss, French; old theatre-tickets, market pictures, the well-known product of street-humor; the tailor riding on a goat, the devil taking off bad women, a portrait of the long-moustached mayor of Nuremberg: a pile of envelopes, all heaped together in a huddle.
That was Topándy's savings bank.
He would always spend silver and gold money, but money paid to him in bank-notes, which he had to accept, he would put by year by year among this collection of cards, funny pictures, and theatrical programmes; this heap of value was never disturbed except when, as at present, some enforced visit had to be put up with, some so-called "execution."
"Please, help yourselves."
"What?" cried the magistrate. "Must we pick out the value from the non-value in this rubbish?"
"Now I am not so well-informed an expert as to distinguish what is recalled from what is still in circulation. Still my good friend is right, it is my duty to count out, yours to receive."
Then he plunged his hand into the treasure-heap, and counted over the bits of paper.
"This is good, this is not. This is still new, this is surely torn. Here's a five florin, here a ten florin note. This is the Knave of Hearts."
A little discussion occurred when he counted a label that had been removed from an old champagne bottle, as a ten florin note.
The gentlemen took exception to that: it must be thrown away.
"What, is this not money? It must be money. It is a French bank-note. There is written on it ten florins. Cliquot will pay if you take it to him."
Then he began to explain several comical pictures, and bargained with the authorities—how much would they give for them? he had paid a big price for them.
Finally the worthy lawyer had again to intervene: otherwise this liquidation might have lasted till the following evening; then, after a strict search in a critical manner, he withdrew two hundred and forty-three florins from the pile.
"A little water if you please, I should like to wash my hands," said the lawyer after his work, feeling like one who has separated the raw wheat from the tares.
"Like Pilate after passing judgment," jested Topándy. "You shall have all you want at once. Already there is an end to the legal manipulation: we are no longer 'legale testimonium' and 'incattus,' but guest and host."
"God forbid," repudiated the magistrate retiring towards the door. "We did not come in that guise. We do not wish to trouble you any longer."
"Trouble indeed!" said the accused, guffawing. "What, do you think this matter has been any trouble to me?—on the contrary, the most exquisite amusement! This annoyance of the county against me I would not sell for a thousand florins. It was glorious. 'Execution!' Legally erased pictures! An investigation into my private behavior! I shall live for a year on this joke. And you will see, my friends, I shall do so again soon. I shall find out some plan for getting them to take me in irons to the Court: a battalion of soldiers shall come for me, and they shall make me the son of the warden! Ha! ha! May I be damned if I don't succeed in my project! If they would but put me in prison for a year, and make me saw wood in the courtyard of the County Court, and clean the boots of the Lieutenant Governor. That is a capital idea! I shall not die until I reach that."
In the meantime a butler arrived with the water, while a second opened another door and invited the guests with much ceremony to partake in the pleasure of the table.
"Her ladyship invites the honorable gentlemen's company at déjeuner."
The magistrate looked in perplexity at the lawyer, who turned to the basin and hid his laughing face in his hands.
"You are married?" the magistrate enquired of Topándy.
"Oh dear no," he answered, "she is not my wife, but my sister."
"But we are invited to dinner in the neighborhood."
"By Mr. Sárvölgyi? That does not matter. If a man wishes to dine at Sárvölgyi's, he will be wise to have déjeuner first. Besides I have your word to drink a glass as a 'conditio sine qua non;' besides a chivalrous man cannot refuse the invitation of a lady."
The last pretext was conclusive; it was impossible to refuse a lady's invitation, even if a man has armed force at his command. He is obliged to yield to the superior power.
The magistrate allowed the third attempt to succeed, and was dragged by the arm into the dining-room.
Topándy audibly bade the butlers look after the wants of the gendarmes and stone-masons, and give them enough to eat and drink: and, when our friend, the magistrate, prepared to object, interrupted him with: "Kindly remember the 'execution' is over, and consider that those good fellows are tearing off plaster from the cloister walls, and the paint-dust will go to their lungs: and it shall not be my fault if any harm touches the upholders of public security. This way, if you please: here comes my sister."
Through the opposite door came the above mentioned "ladyship."
She could not have been taken for more than fifteen years old: she was wearing a pure white dress, trimmed with lace, according to the fashion of the time, and bound round her slender waist