A Hungarian Nabob | Page 2

the earth instead, for then you would not be
brought to a standstill on the dike between two ponds, with the ground
so soaking wet beneath your feet that there seemed nothing for it but to
stick there till you grew old, or carry your waggon away with you on
your back.
It was drawing towards evening. Mr. Peter Bús was coming home from
his fields on horseback, grumbling to himself, but softly, for he
grudged taking his pipe out of his mouth merely for the sake of what he
was saying, which goes to prove that pipes were invented in order that
man may have something to stuff his mouth with, and thus stop from
swearing so much. "All the hay has gone to the devil already," he
muttered, "and he'll have the wheat too! The whole shoot has gone to
the deuce!" For the innkeeper of the csárda does not live by only
doling out wine, but is a bit of a farmer besides, and his business is no
sinecure.
While he was thus murmuring to himself, a dubious-looking being of
the feminine gender, of whom it was difficult to judge whether she was
a spouse or a scullery-maid, appeared at the extreme end of the dike,
which led towards the River Theiss.

"Isn't there a coach coming along there?" she said.
"So I'm to be saddled with guests on an infernal day like this, eh! It
only needed that," said Peter Bús, grumbling still more. He did not look
in the direction indicated, but hastened into his pothouse to strip off his
saturated pelisse before the fire, and swear a little more. "When our
store of bread is gone, I don't know where I am to get any more from,
but I don't mean to starve for anybody."
At last, however, he condescended to look out of the window, drying
the sweat from his brow the while, and perceived a carriage a good
distance off, drawn by four post-horses, struggling along the dike. He
made a gesture of satisfaction towards it with one hand, and said,
pleasantly, "It won't get here to-day." Then he sat him down in front of
his door, and, lolling his pipe out of the corner of his mouth, looked on
in calm enjoyment, while the coachman cursed and swore at the four
horses on the far-extending dike. The lumbering old vehicle on its high
springs swayed to and fro from time to time, as if it were on the point
of toppling over, but a couple of men kept close to it on each side, and,
whenever a jolt came, they clung heavily on to the steps to keep it
steady, and when it stuck fast in mud up to the axles of the wheels, and
the horses came to a standstill, they would, first of all, shout till they
were husky at the horses, and then, buckling to, dig the whole
conveyance out with sticks and staves, raise the wheels, clean out the
spokes, which had been converted into a solid mass of mud, and then
proceed triumphantly a few paces further.
Mr. Peter Bús regarded the dangers of others in the spirit of a true
predestinarian. Frantic cries and the cracking of whips reached his ears
from time to time, but what business was it of his? It is true he had four
good horses of his own, by the aid of which he might have dragged the
coming guests out of the mud in the twinkling of an eye, but why
should he? If it were written in the Book of Fate that the carriage would
safely arrive at the csárda, it would arrive, but if it were preordained to
stick fast in the mud and remain there till dawn, then stick fast it must,
and it would be wrong to cut athwart the ways of Providence.
And at last all four wheels stuck so fast in the mud in the middle of the

dam that it was impossible to move either backwards or forwards. The
men were hoarse with shouting, the harness was rent to pieces, the
horses lay down in the mud, and the weather began to grow beautifully
dark. Mr. Peter Bús, with a lightened heart, knocked the ashes of his
pipe-bowl into the palm of his hand. Thank God! no guest will come
to-day, and his heart rejoiced as, passing through the door, he perceived
the empty coach-house, in which his little family of poultry, all huddled
up together for the night, was squabbling sociably. He himself ordered
the whole of his household to bed, for candles were dear, put out the
fire, and stretching himself at his ease on his bunda, chuckled
comfortably behind his lighted pipe, and fell reflecting on the folly of
people travelling