A Hungarian Nabob | Page 6

and pet and play with; nay, it is cleverer far than
they. What a delicate little snout it has, what sweet little ears, what wee
little pets of feet! And then its comically big moustache, and its quick

black eyes like sparkling diamonds! And when it plays, when it
squeaks, when it stands up to beat the air on its hind legs, it is as clever
and as comely as any other animal in the world. Nobody is horrified at
a crab being cooked, nobody flies in terror when snails are served up at
table, yet they are both far more horrible animals than a mouse. What,
then, is there so horrifying in the idea of cooking a mouse? Why, in
China, it is the greatest of delicacies, a lordly dish for epicures, and
they feed it up in cages with nuts and almonds, and serve it up as the
choicest of savouries!
Nevertheless, the whole company was persuaded that the very idea of
such a thing was the most exquisite of jokes, and every one laughed
aloud in anticipation.
Meanwhile, while Mr. Peter Bús threw open a large barn-like room for
his guests, the heydukes had unpacked the waggon, and dragged into
the light of day cushions, curtains, camp-stools, and tables; and in a
few moments the empty, resonant room was changed as if by magic
into a sumptuous apartment. The table was piled high with silver
goblets and dishes, and, reposing among the ice in large silver pitchers,
flasks of carved Venetian crystal with long necks seemed to promise
something seductive.
The Nabob himself lay down on the camp bedstead prepared for him,
his heydukes drew the large spurred boots from his feet, one of the
peasant girls sat by his head stroking continually his sparse grey hairs,
while the other sat at the end of the bed rubbing his feet with bits of
flannel. Gyárfás, the poet, and Vidra, the jester, stood before him; a
little further off the heydukes; the greyhound was under the bed. And
thus, surrounded by gipsy, heydukes, jester, peasant-girls, and
greyhound, lay one of the wealthiest magnates of Hungary!
Meanwhile, the mouse was a-roasting. The innkeeper himself brought
it lying in the middle of a large silver dish, surrounded by a heap of
horseradish shavings, and with a bit of green parsley in its mouth, the
usual appurtenances of a very different animal.
Down it was placed in the middle of the table.

First of all, the Nabob offered it to the heydukes one by one. They did
not fancy it, and only shook their heads.
Then it came to the poet's turn.
"Pardon, gratia, your Excellency! I am composing verses on him who
eats it."
"Well, you then, Vidra! Come, down with it, quick!"
"I, your Excellency?" said Vidra, as if he did not quite catch the words.
"Yes, you. What are you afraid of? While you were living in tents, one
of my oxen went mad, and yet you and your people ate him!"
"True; and if one of your lordship's hogsheads of wine went mad I
would drink it. That's another thing."
"Come, come, make haste! Do the dish honour!"
"But my grandfather had no quarrel with this animal."
"Then rise superior to your grandpapa!"
"I'll rise superior to him for a hundred florins," said the gipsy,
scratching his curly poll.
The Nabob opened the pocket of his dolman, and drew forth a large
greasy pocket-book, which he half opened, displaying a number of nice
blood-coloured banknotes.
The gipsy squinted with half an eye at the well-crammed pocket-book,
and repeated once more--
"For a hundred florins I don't mind doing it!"
"Let us see then!"
The gipsy thereupon unbuttoned the frock-coat which it was his

master's whim he should wear, contracted his rotund, foolish face into a
squarish shape, twitched the mobile skin of his head up and down once
or twice, whereby the whole forest of his hair moved backwards and
forwards like the top-knot of a peewit, and then, seizing the horrible
animal by that part of its body which was furthest from its head, and
thereby raising it into the air, pulled an ugly, acidulous face, shook his
head, constrained himself to a desperate resolution, opened his mouth,
shut his eyes, and in an instant the mouse had disappeared.
The gipsy could not speak, but one of his hands involuntarily clutched
his throat, for it is no joke to swallow a four-legged animal at a gulp;
but his other hand he extended towards the Nabob, gasping with
something like a sob--
"The hundred florins!"
"What hundred florins?" inquired the humorous gentleman. "I said I'd
give you a hundred florins? Nonsense, sir. You should thank me for
providing you with such a rare dish which your grandfather never ate,
I'll