“That is a slander!” cried someone from the background. Banfi at once recognized Nalaczi’s voice.
The murmuring crowd turned towards the corner whence the interruption had proceeded.
“Let him alone, my friends,” cried Banfi; “some satellite of Master Michael Teleki’s, I suppose. Let him, too, have the benefit of freedom of speech! I, however, who am well acquainted with the upright sentiments of the Estates of the Realm, can tell you positively, that this thoughtless step can never be taken in a constitutional way, and if they attempt by secret intrigues or sudden violence to bring about what cannot be done by fair means, then too they will find me at my post. I wish to defend the realm and the Prince, but if it must be so, I will defend the realm against the Prince himself. Now listen to what the caballers have devised, so as to ensnare us once more in those meshes from which we have hardly withdrawn our heads. Despite the peace, Turks at one time, Tartars at another, cross our frontier, blackmail the people, burn the towns, in short, force their friendship upon us in every imaginable way. Eight days ago they ravaged Segesvar, and before that they made incursions into the Csika district. That, however, is not my business. It concerns the Governors of the Saxon land and the Captains of the Szeklers. It is true that the mouth of his Excellency, Ali Pasha, has long been watering for my domains, only he has not quite made up his mind how to pick a quarrel with me. A few days ago, however, his roving bands captured the Prince’s Patrol-officer, and proclaimed through his mouth to the whole district a fresh tax of a farthing per head. The poor peasantry rejoiced at getting off so cheaply, and hastened to pay the tax without first asking me whether it was lawfully levied. The artful Turk gained a double end thereby: in the first place, he got the people to recognize the tax, and in the second place, he found out exactly how many taxable persons resided in the district, and immediately afterwards levied upon them the fearful blackmail of two Hungarian florins per head!”
The multitude howled with rage.
“I immediately forbade all further payments. This tax does not indeed fall upon our shoulders, for we are nobles; but it is just because we are the peasants’ masters that we are bound to save them from being fleeced, and defend them at all hazards. The only answer I sent to his Turkish Excellency was a pig’s tail, and if he comes to levy the tax in person, I swear by the living God, I’ll give him a buffet he won’t forget as long as he lives.”
“We will cut him to pieces!” roared the mob, striking their scabbards, and waving their morning-stars in the air.
“And now, my faithful friends, return to your tents. My seneschals will provide for your entertainment. If we must fight, I’ll tell you when.”
The excited nobility then withdrew with rattling weapons and boisterous approbation; only a few petitioners remained behind.
The Klausenburg professors invited their patron to the public examinations. Banfi promised to come, and distribute rewards to the best scholars.
As they retired Banfi beckoned to the remaining suppliants to approach one by one. The first he turned to was Master Martin Kuncz, the Bishop of the Klausenburg Unitarians.
“How can I serve your Reverence?”
“I have a complaint to make, gracious sir,” returned Kuncz, with a bow and a scrape. “The Klausenburg town-council has forcibly removed the market booths belonging to the Unitarian Church. I beg you to help us to regain possession.”
“I am very sorry I cannot help your Reverence,” returned Banfi, whistling through his teeth and buttoning up his coat. “That is a constitutional affair, and concerns the Prince. The land indeed is mine, but the cause belongs to his Highness’s Courts.”
“The Prince gave me exactly the same answer, only reversed—‘The cause indeed belongs to my Courts, but the land is Banfi’s, go to him.’ ”
Banfi laughed good-humouredly, but Kuncz did not seem to regard the matter as particularly entertaining.
“Then, although my right is as clear as noonday, I can turn nowhither?”
Banfi shrugged his shoulders and stroked his beard.
“Because your Reverence has right on your side, it by no means follows that you will get justice.”
“Then his case is exactly the same as mine,” interrupted someone, and Banfi, looking round, beheld Dame Saint Pauli making towards him.
The magnate pretended he did not see the widow, and nonchalantly adjusted the gold and diamond chain of his mente; but the widow thrust herself right under his nose, and thus began—
“Vainly do you condescend to ignore me, my lord. I am here though uninvited.”
Banfi looked at her without saying a word, half amused and half annoyed.
“Or perhaps your lordship has forgotten my name?” continued the lady sharply, smiting her breast and exclaiming—“I am the noble, highborn—”
“And
