The Romany Rye

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Myself. Why did Matyas capture Venna?

Hungarian. Because the Emperor Frederick took part against him
with the King of Poland, who claimed the kingdom of Hungary for his
son, and had also assisted the Turk. He captured it in the year
1487, but did not survive his triumph long, expiring there in the
year 1490. He was so veracious a man, that it was said of him,
after his death, "Truth died with Matyas." It might be added that
the glory of Hungary departed with him. I wish to say nothing more
connected with Hungarian history.

Myself. Another word. Did Matyas leave a son?

Hungarian. A natural son, Hunyadi John, called so after the great
man. He would have been universally acknowledged as King of
Hungary but for the illegitimacy of his birth. As it was, Ulaszlo,
the son of the King of Poland, afterwards called Ulaszlo the
Second, who claimed Hungary as being descended from Albert, was
nominated king by a great majority of the Magyar electors. Hunyadi
John for some time disputed the throne with him; there was some
bloodshed, but Hunyadi John eventually submitted, and became the
faithful captain of Ulaszlo, notwithstanding that the Turk offered
to assist him with an army of two hundred thousand men.

Myself. Go on.

Hungarian. To what? Tche Drak, to the Mohacs Veszedelem. Ulaszlo
left a son, Lajos the Second, born without skin, as it is said,
certainly without a head. He, contrary to the advice of all his
wise counsellors,--and amongst them was Batory Stephen, who became
eventually King of Poland--engaged, with twenty-five thousand men,
at Mohacs, Soliman the Turk, who had an army of two hundred
thousand. Drak! the Magyars were annihilated, King Lajos
disappeared with his heavy horse and armour in a bog. We call that
battle, which was fought on the 29th of August, 1526, the
destruction of Mohacs, but it was the destruction of Hungary.

Myself. You have twice used the word drak, what is the meaning of
it? Is it Hungarian?

Hungarian. No! it belongs to the mad Wallacks. They are a nation
of madmen on the other side of Transylvania. Their country was
formerly a fief of Hungary, like Moldavia, which is inhabited by
the same race, who speak the same language and are equally mad.

Myself. What language do they speak?

Hungarian. A strange mixture of Latin and Sclavonian--they
themselves being a mixed race of Romans and Sclavonians. Trajan
sent certain legions to form military colonies in Dacia; and the
present Wallacks and Moldavians are, to a certain extent, the
descendants of the Roman soldiers, who married the women of the
country. I say to a certain extent, for the Sclavonian element
both in blood and language seems to prevail.

Myself. And what is drak?

Hungarian. Dragon; which the Wallacks use for "devil." The term
is curious, as it shows that the old Romans looked upon the dragon
as an infernal being.

Myself. You have been in Wallachia?

Hungarian. I have, and glad I was to get out of it. I hate the
mad Wallacks.

Myself. Why do you call them mad?

Hungarian. They are always drinking or talking. I never saw a
Wallachian eating or silent. They talk like madmen, and drink like
madmen. In drinking they use small phials, the contents of which
they pour down their throats. When I first went amongst them I
thought the whole nation was under a course of physic, but the
terrible jabber of their tongues soon undeceived me. Drak was the
first word I heard on entering Dacia, and the last when I left it.
The Moldaves, if possible, drink more, and talk more than the
Wallachians.

Myself. It is singular enough that the only Moldavian I have known
could not speak. I suppose he was born dumb.

Hungarian. A Moldavian born dumb! Excuse me, the thing is
impossible,--all Moldavians are born talking! I have known a
Moldavian who could not speak, but he was not born dumb. His
master, an Armenian, snipped off part of his tongue at Adrianople.
He drove him mad with his jabber. He is now in London, where his
master has a house. I have letters of credit on the house: the
clerk paid me money in London, the master was absent; the money
which you received for the horse belonged to that house.

Myself. Another word with respect to Hungarian history.

Hungarian. Drak! I wish to say nothing more about Hungarian
history.

Myself. The Turk, I suppose, after Mohacs, got possession of
Hungary?

Hungarian. Not exactly. The Turk, upon the whole, showed great
moderation; not so the Austrian. Ferdinand the First claimed the
crown of Hungary as being the cousin of Maria, widow of Lajos; he
found too many disposed to support him. His claim, however, was
resisted by Zapolya John, a Hungarian magnate, who caused himself
to be elected king. Hungary was for a long time devastated by wars
between the partisans of Zapolya and Ferdinand. At last Zapolya
called in the Turk. Soliman behaved generously to him, and after
his death befriended his young son, and Isabella his queen;
eventually the Turks became masters of Transylvania and the greater
part of Hungary. They were not bad masters, and had many friends
in Hungary, especially amongst those of the reformed faith, to
which I have myself the honour of belonging; those of the reformed
faith found the Mufti more tolerant than the Pope. Many Hungarians
went with the Turks to the siege of Vienna, whilst Tekeli and his
horsemen guarded Hungary for them. A gallant enterprise that siege
of Vienna, the last great effort of the Turk; it failed, and he
speedily lost Hungary, but he did not sneak from Hungary like a
frightened hound. His defence of Buda will not be soon forgotten,
where Apty Basha, the governor, died fighting like a lion in the
breach. There's many a Hungarian would prefer Stamboul to Vienna.
Why does your Government always send fools to represent it at
Vienna?

Myself. I have already told you that I cannot say. What became of
Tekeli?

Hungarian. When Hungary was lost he retired with the Turks into
Turkey. Count Renoncourt, in his Memoirs, mentions having seen him
at Adrianople. The Sultan, in consideration of the services which
he had rendered to the Moslem in Hungary, made over the revenues of
certain towns and districts for his subsistence. The count says
that he always went armed to the teeth, and was always attended by
a young female dressed in male attire, who had followed him in his
wars, and had more than once saved his life. His end is wrapped in
mystery, I--whose greatest boast, next to being a Hungarian, is to
be of his blood--know nothing of his end.

Myself. Allow me to ask who you are?

Hungarian. Egy szegeny Magyar Nemes ember, a poor Hungarian
nobleman, son of one yet poorer. I was born in Transylvania, not
far to the west of good Coloscvar. I served some time in the
Austrian army as a noble Hussar, but am now equerry to a great
nobleman, to whom I am distantly related. In his service I have
travelled far and wide, buying horses. I have been in Russia and
in Turkey, and am now at Horncastle, where I have had the
satisfaction to meet with you, and to buy your horse, which is, in
truth, a noble brute.

Myself. For a soldier and equerry you seem to know a great deal of
the history of your country.

Hungarian. All I know is derived from Florentius of Buda, whom we
call Budai Ferentz. He was professor of Greek and Latin at the
Reformed College of Debreczen, where I was educated; he wrote a
work entitled "Magyar Polgari Lexicon," Lives of Great Hungarian
Citizens. He was dead before I was born, but I found his book,
when I was a child, in the solitary home of my father, which stood
on the confines of a puszta, or wilderness, and that book I used to
devour in winter nights when the winds were whistling around the
house. Oh I how my blood used to glow at the descriptions of
Magyar valour, and likewise of Turkish; for Florentius has always
done justice to the Turk. Many a passage similar to this have I
got by heart; it is connected with a battle on the plain of Rigo,
which Hunyadi lost:- "The next day, which was Friday, as the two
armies were drawn up in battle array, a Magyar hero riding forth,
galloped up and down, challenging the Turks to single combat. Then
came out to meet him the son of a renowned bashaw of Asia; rushing
upon each other, both broke their lances, but the Magyar hero and
his horse rolled over upon the ground, for the Turks had always the
best horses." O young man of Horncastle! if ever you learn
Hungarian--and learn it assuredly you will after what I have told
you--read the book of Florentius of Buda, even if you go to Hungary
to get it, for you will scarcely find it elsewhere, and even there
with difficulty, for the book has been long out of print. It
describes the actions of the great men of Hungary down to the
middle of the sixteenth century; and besides being written in the
purest Hungarian, has the merit of having for its author a
professor of the Reformed College of Debreczen.

Myself. I will go to Hungary rather than not read it. I am glad
that the Turk beat the Magyar. When I used to read the ballads of
Spain I always sided with the Moor against the Christian.

Hungarian. It was a drawn fight after all, for the terrible horse
of the Turk presently flung his own master, whereupon the two
champions returned to their respective armies; but in the grand
conflict which ensued, the Turks beat the Magyars, pursuing them
till night, and striking them on the necks with their scymetars.
The Turk is a noble fellow; I should wish to be a Turk, were I not
a Magyar.

Myself. The Turk always keeps his word, I am told.

Hungarian. Which the Christian very seldom does, and even the
Hungarian does not always. In 1444 Ulaszlo made, at Szeged, peace
with Amurath for ten years, which he swore with an oath to keep,
but at the instigation of the Pope Julian he broke it, and induced
his great captain, Hunyadi John, to share in the perjury. The
consequence was the battle of Varna, of the 10th of November, in
which Hunyadi was routed, and Ulaszlo slain. Did you ever hear his
epitaph? it is both solemn and edifying:-

Romulidae Cannas ego Varnam clade notavi;
Discite rnortales non temerare fidem:
Me nisi Pontifices jussissent rumpere foedus
Non ferret Scythicum Pannonis ora jugum."

"Halloo!" said the jockey, starting up from a doze in which he had
been indulging for the last hour, his head leaning upon his breast,
"what is that? That's not high Dutch; I bargained for high Dutch,
and I left you speaking high Dutch, as it sounded very much like
the language of horses, as I have been told high Dutch does; but as
for what you are speaking now, whatever you may call it, it sounds
more like the language of another kind of animal. I suppose you
want to insult me, because I was once a dicky-boy."

"Nothing of the kind," said I; "the gentleman was making a
quotation in Latin."

"Latin, was it?" said the jockey; "that alters the case. Latin is
genteel, and I have sent my eldest boy to an academy to learn it.
Come, let us hear you fire away in Latin," he continued, proceeding
to re-light his pipe, which, before going to sleep, he had laid on
the table.

"If you wish to follow the discourse in Latin," said the Hungarian,
in very bad English, "I can oblige you; I learned to speak very
good Latin in the college of Debreczen."

"That's more," said I, "than I have done in the colleges where I
have been; in any little conversation which we may yet have, I wish
you would use German."

"Well," said the jockey, taking a whiff, "make your conversation as
short as possible, whether in Latin or Dutch, for, to tell you the
truth, I am rather tired of merely playing listener."

"You were saying you had been in Russia," said I; "I believe the
Russians are part of the Sclavonian race."

Hungarian. Yes, part of the great Sclavonian family; one of the
most numerous races in the world. The Russians themselves are very
numerous; would that the Magyars could boast of the fifth part of
their number!

Myself. What is the number of the Magyars?

Hungarian. Barely four millions. We came a tribe of Tartars into
Europe, and settled down amongst Sclavonians, whom we conquered,
but who never coalesced with us. The Austrian at present plays in
Pannonia the Sclavonian against us, and us against the Sclavonian;
but the downfall of the Austrian is at hand; they, like us, are not
a numerous people.

Myself. Who will bring about his downfall?

Hungarian. The Russians. The Rysckie Tsar will lead his people
forth, all the Sclavonians will join him, he will conquer all
before him.

Myself. Are the Russians good soldiers?

Hungarian. They are stubborn and unflinching to an astonishing
degree, and their fidelity to their Tsar is quite admirable. See
how the Russians behaved at Plescova, in Livonia, in the old time,
against our great Batory Stephen; they defended the place till it
was a heap of rubbish, and mark how they behaved after they had
been made prisoners. Stephen offered them two alternatives:- to
enter into his service, in which they would have good pay,
clothing, and fair treatment; or to be allowed to return to Russia.
Without the slightest hesitation they, to a man, chose the latter,
though well aware that their beloved Tsar, the cruel Ivan
Basilowits, would put them all to death, amidst tortures the most
horrible, for not doing what was impossible--preserving the town.

Myself. You speak Russian?

Hungarian. A little. I was born in the vicinity of a Sclavonian
tribe; the servants of our house were Sclavonians, and I early
acquired something of their language, which differs not much from
that of Russia; when in that country I quickly understood what was
said.

Myself. Have the Russians any literature?

Hungarian. Doubtless; but I am not acquainted with it, as I do not
read their language; but I know something of their popular tales,
to which I used to listen in their izbushkas; a principal personage
in these is a creation quite original--called Baba Yaga.

Myself. Who is the Baba Yaga?

Hungarian. A female phantom, who is described as hurrying along
the puszta, or steppe, in a mortar, pounding with a pestle at a
tremendous rate, and leaving a long trace on the ground behind her
with her tongue, which is three yards long, and with which she
seizes any men and horses coming in her way, swallowing them down
into her capacious belly. She has several daughters, very
handsome, and with plenty of money; happy the young Mujik who
catches and marries one of them, for they make excellent wives.

"Many thanks," said I, "for the information you have afforded me:
this is rather poor wine," I observed, as I poured out a glass--"I
suppose you have better wine in Hungary?"

"Yes, we have better wine in Hungary. First of all there is Tokay,
the most celebrated in the world, though I confess I prefer the
wine of Eger--Tokay is too sweet."

"Have you ever been at Tokay?"

"I have," said the Hungarian.

"What kind of place is Tokay?"

"A small town situated on the Tyzza, a rapid river descending from
the north; the Tokay Mountain is just behind the town, which stands
on the right bank. The top of the mountain is called Kopacs Teto,
or the bald tip; the hill is so steep that during thunder-storms
pieces frequently fall down upon the roofs of the houses. It was
planted with vines by King Lajos, who ascended the throne in 1342.
The best wine called Tokay is, however, not made at Tokay, but at
Kassau, two leagues farther into the Carpathians, of which Tokay is
a spur. If you wish to drink the best Tokay, you must go to
Vienna, to which place all the prime is sent. For the third time I
ask you, O young man of Horncastle! why does your Government always
send fools to represent it at Vienna?"

"And for the third time I tell you, O son of Almus! that I cannot
say; perhaps, however, to drink the sweet Tokay wine; fools, you
know, always like sweet things."

"Good," said the Hungarian; "it must be so, and when I return to
Hungary, I will state to my countrymen your explanation of a
circumstance which has frequently caused them great perplexity.
Oh! the English are a clever people, and have a deep meaning in all
they do. What a vision of deep policy opens itself to my view!
they do not send their fool to Vienna in order to gape at
processions, and to bow and scrape at a base Papist court, but to
drink at the great dinners the celebrated Tokay of Hungary, which
the Hungarians, though they do not drink it, are very proud of, and
by doing so to intimate the sympathy which the English entertain
for their fellow religionists of Hungary. Oh! the English are a
deep people."

CHAPTER XL

The Horncastle Welcome--Tzernebock and Bielebock.

The pipe of the Hungarian had, for some time past, exhibited
considerable symptoms of exhaustion, little or no ruttling having
been heard in the tube, and scarcely a particle of smoke, drawn
through the syphon, having been emitted from the lips of the
possessor. He now rose from his seat, and going to a corner of the
room, placed his pipe against the wall, then striding up and down
the room, he cracked his fingers several times, exclaiming, in a
half-musing manner, "Oh, the deep nation, which, in order to
display its sympathy for Hungary, sends its fool to Vienna, to
drink the sweet wine of Tokay!"

The jockey, having looked for some time at the tall figure with
evident approbation, winked at me with that brilliant eye of his on
which there was no speck, saying, "'Did you ever see a taller
fellow?"

"Never," said I.

"Or a finer?"

"That's another question," said I, "which I am not so willing to
answer; however, as I am fond of truth, and scorn to flatter, I
will take the liberty of saying that I have seen a finer."

"A finer! where?" said the jockey; whilst the Hungarian, who
appeared to understand what we said, stood still, and looked full
at me.

"Amongst a strange set of people," said I, "whom, if I were to
name, you would, I dare say, only laugh at me."

"Who be they?" said the jockey. "Come, don't be ashamed; I have
occasionally kept queerish company myself."

"The people whom we call gypsies," said I; "whom the Germans call
Zigeuner, and who call themselves Romany chals."

"Zigeuner!" said the Hungarian; "by Isten! I do know those
people."

"Romany chals!" said the jockey; "whew! I begin to smell a rat."

"What do you mean by smelling a rat?" said I.

"I'll bet a crown," said the jockey, "that you be the young chap
what certain folks call 'the Romany Rye.'"

"Ah!" said I, "how came you to know that name?"

"Be not you he?" said the jockey.

"Why, I certainly have been called by that name."

"I could have sworn it," said the jockey; then rising from his
chair, he laid his pipe on the table, took a large hand-bell which
stood on the side-board, and going to the door, opened it, and
commenced ringing in a most tremendous manner on the staircase.
The noise presently brought up a waiter, to whom the jockey
vociferated, "Go to your master, and tell him to send immediately
three bottles of champagne, of the pink kind, mind you, which is
twelve guineas a dozen;" the waiter hurried away, and the jockey
resumed his seat and his pipe. I sat in silent astonishment until
the waiter returned with a basket containing the wine, which, with
three long glasses, he placed on the table. The jockey then got
up, and going to a large bow-window at the end of the room, which
looked into a court-yard, peeped out; then saying, "the coast is
clear," he shut down the principal sash which was open for the sake
of the air, and taking up a bottle of champagne, he placed another
in the hands of the Hungarian, to whom he said something in
private. The latter, who seemed to understand him, answered by a
nod. The two then going to the end of the table fronting the
window, and about eight paces from it, stood before it, holding the
bottles by their necks; suddenly the jockey lifted up his arm.
"Surely," said I, "you are not mad enough to fling that bottle
through the window?" "Here's to the Romany Rye; here's to the
sweet master," said the jockey, dashing the bottle through the pane
in so neat a manner that scarcely a particle of glass fell into the
room.

"Eljen edes csigany ur--eljen gul eray!" said the Hungarian,
swinging round his bottle, and discharging it at the window; but,
either not possessing the jockey's accuracy of aim, or reckless of
the consequences, he flung his bottle so, that it struck against
part of the wooden setting of the panes, breaking along with the
wood and itself three or four panes to pieces. The crash was
horrid, and wine and particles of glass flew back into the room, to
the no small danger of its inmates. "What do you think of that?"
said the jockey; "were you ever so honoured before?" "Honoured!"
said I. "God preserve me in future from such honour;" and I put my
finger to my cheek, which was slightly hurt by a particle of the
glass. "That's the way we of the cofrady honour great men at
Horncastle," said the jockey. "What, you are hurt! never mind; all
the better; your scratch shows that you are the body the compliment
was paid to." "And what are you going to do with the other
bottle?" said I. "Do with it!" said the jockey, "why, drink it,
cosily and comfortably, whilst holding a little quiet talk. The
Romany Rye at Horncastle, what an idea!"

"And what will the master of the house say to all this damage which
you have caused him!"

"What will your master say, William?" said the jockey to the
waiter, who had witnessed the singular scene just described without
exhibiting the slightest mark of surprise. William smiled, and
slightly shrugging his shoulders, replied, "Very little, I dare
say, sir; this a'n't the first time your honour has done a thing of
this kind." "Nor will it be the first time that I shall have paid
for it," said the jockey; "well, I shall never have paid for a
certain item in the bill with more pleasure than I shall pay for it
now. Come, William, draw the cork, and let us taste the pink
champagne."

The waiter drew the cork, and filled the glasses with a pinky
liquor, which bubbled, hissed, and foamed. "How do you like it?"
said the jockey, after I had imitated the example of my companions,
by despatching my portion at a draught.

"It is wonderful wine," said I; "I have never tasted champagne
before, though I have frequently heard it praised; it more than
answers my expectations; but, I confess, I should not wish to be
obliged to drink it every day."

"Nor I," said the jockey, "for every-day drinking give me a glass
of old port, or--"

"Of hard old ale," I interposed, "which, according to my mind, is
better than all the wine in the world."

"Well said, Romany Rye," said the jockey, "just my own opinion;
now, William, make yourself scarce."

The waiter withdrew, and I said to the jockey, " How did you become
acquainted with the Romany chals?"

"I first became acquainted with them," said the jockey, "when I
lived with old Fulcher the basketmaker, who took me up when I was
adrift upon the world; I do not mean the present Fulcher, who is
likewise called old Fulcher, but his father, who has been dead this
many a year; while living with him in the caravan, I frequently met
them in the green lanes, and of latter years I have had occasional
dealings with them in the horse line."

"And the gypsies have mentioned me to you?" said I.

"Frequently," said the jockey, "and not only those of these parts;
why, there's scarcely a part of England in which I have not heard
the name of the Romany Rye mentioned by these people. The power
you have over them is wonderful; that is, I should have thought it
wonderful, had they not more than once told me the cause."

"And what is the cause?" said I, "for I am sure I do not know."

"The cause is this," said the jockey, "they never heard a bad word
proceed from your mouth, and never knew you do a bad thing."

"They are a singular people," said I.

"And what a singular language they have got," said the jockey.

"Do you know it?" said I.

"Only a few words," said the jockey, "they were always chary in
teaching me any."

"They were vary sherry to me too," said the Hungarian, speaking in
broken English; "I only could learn from them half-a-dozen words,
for example, gul eray, which, in the czigany of my country, means
sweet gentleman; or edes ur in my own Magyar."

"Gudlo Rye, in the Romany of mine, means a sugar'd gentleman," said
I; "then there are gypsies in your country?"

"Plenty," said the Hungarian, speaking German, "and in Russia and
Turkey too; and wherever they are found, they are alike in their
ways and language. Oh, they are a strange race, and how little
known! I know little of them, but enough to say, that one horse-
load of nonsense has been written about them; there is one Valter
Scott--"

"Mind what you say about him," said I; "he is our grand authority
in matters of philology and history."

"A pretty philologist," said the Hungarian, "who makes the gypsies
speak Roth-Welsch, the dialect of thieves; a pretty historian, who
couples together Thor and Tzernebock."

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