Maurus Jokai - The Nameless Castle

“Ha, ha, ha!” merrily laughed the baroness. “You are the gentleman who has an anecdote to suit every occasion. I have already heard about you. Pray introduce the other gentlemen.”

The vice-palatine proceeded to obey this request. “This is the Rev. Herr Tobias Mercatoris, our parish clergyman. He has a beautiful speech prepared to receive your ladyship; but he can’t repeat it here, as it begins, ‘Here in the grateful shadow of these green trees.’ ”

“Oh, well, your reverence, instead of the speech, I will listen to your sermons on Sundays. I intend to become a very zealous member of your congregation.”

“And this, your ladyship,” continued the master of ceremonies, “is Dr. Philip Tromfszky, resident physician of Fertöszeg, who is celebrated not only for his surgical and medical skill, but is acknowledged here, as well as in Raab, Komorn, Eisenburg, and Odenburg, as the greatest gossip and news dispenser in the kingdom.”

“A most excellent accomplishment!” laughingly exclaimed the baroness. “I am devoted to gossip; and I shall manage to have some ailment every few days in order to have the doctor come to see me!”

Then came the surveyor’s turn.

“This, your ladyship, is Herr Martin Doboka, county surveyor and expert mathematician. He will measure for you land, water, or fog; and if your watch stops going, he will repair it for you!”

“And who may this be?” smilingly inquired the lady, indicating the vice-palatine’s assistant, who had thrust his long neck inquisitively forward.

“Oh, he isn’t anybody!” replied the vice-palatine. “He is never called by name. When you want him just say: ‘ Audiat! ’ He is one of those persons of whom Cziraky said: ‘My lad, don’t trouble yourself to inquire where you shall seat yourself at table; for wherever you sit will always be the lowest place!’ ”

This anecdote caused “Audiat” to draw back his head and seek to make himself invisible.

“And now, I must present myself: I am the vice-palatine of this county, and am called Bernat Görömbölyi von Dravakeresztur.”

“My dear sir!” ejaculated the baroness, laughing heartily, “I couldn’t commit all that to memory in three years!”

“That is exactly the way your ladyship’s name affects me!”

“Then I will tell you what we will do. Instead of torturing each other with our unpronounceable names, let us at once adopt the familiar ‘thou,’ and call each other by our Christian names.”

“Yes; but when I enter into a ‘brotherhood’ of that sort, I always kiss the person with whom I form a compact.”

“Well, that can also be done in this instance!” promptly responded the baroness, proffering, without affectation of maidenly coyness, the ceremonial kiss, and cordially shaking hands with the vice-palatine. Then she said:

“We are now Bernat bácsi , and Katinka; and as that is happily arranged, I will ask the gentlemen to go into the agent’s office and conclude our official business. Meanwhile, I shall make my toilet for dinner, where we will all meet again.”

“What a perfectly charming woman!” exclaimed the justice, when their hostess had vanished from the room.

“I wonder what would happen,” observed the doctor, with a malicious grin, “if the vice-palatine’s wife should hear of that kiss? Wouldn’t there be a row, though!”

The heroic descendant of the Scythians at these words became seriously alarmed.

“The Herr Doctor, I trust, will be honorable enough not to gossip about it,” he said meekly.

“Oh, you may rest without fear, so far as I am concerned; but I wouldn’t say as much for the surveyor, here. If ever he should succeed in getting beyond ‘I say,’ I won’t answer for the safety of your secret, Herr Vice-palatine! When your wife hears, moreover, that it is ‘Bernat’ and ‘Katinka’ up here, it will require something besides an anecdote to parry what will follow!”

When the baroness appeared at the dinner-table, she was attired simply, yet with a certain elegance. She wore a plain black silk gown, with no other ornamentation save the string of genuine pearls about her throat. The sombre hue of her gown signified mourning; the gems represented tears; but her manner was by no means in keeping with either; she was cheerful, even gay. But laughter very often serves to mask a sorrowful heart.

“Thy place is here by my side,” said the baroness, mindful of the “thee-and-thou” compact with Herr Bernat.

The vice-palatine, remembering his spouse, sought to modify the familiarity.

“I forgot to tell you, baroness,” he observed, as he seated himself in the chair beside her own, “that with us in this region ‘thou’ is used only by children and the gypsies. To those with whom we are on terms of intimacy we say ‘he’ or ‘she,’ to which we add, if we wish, the words bácsi , or hugom , which are equivalent to ‘cousin.’ ”

“And do you never say ‘thou’ to your wife?”

“To her also I say ‘she’ or ‘you.’ ”

“What a singular country! Well, then, Bernat bácsi, if it pleases ‘him,’ will ‘he’ sit here by me?”

Baroness Katinka understood perfectly how to conduct the conversation during the repast—an art which was not appreciated by her right-hand neighbor, Herr Mercatoris. The learned gentleman had bad teeth, in consequence of which eating was a sort of penitential performance that left him no time for discourse.

But the doctor and the vice-palatine showed themselves all the more willing to share the conversation with their hostess.

“The official business was satisfactorily arranged without me, was it not, Bernat bácsi?” after a brief pause, inquired the baroness.

“Not altogether. We are like the gypsy who said that he was going to marry a countess. He was willing, and all that was yet necessary was the consent of a countess. Our business requires the consent of a baroness—that is, of Katinka hugom.”

“To what must I give my consent?”

“That the conditions relating to the Nameless Castle shall continue the same as heretofore.”

“Nameless Castle?—Conditions?—What does that mean? I should like very much to know.”

“Katinka hugom can see the Nameless Castle from the terrace out yonder. It is a hunting-seat that was built by a Markoczy on the shore of Lake Neusiedl, on the site of a primitive pile-dwelling. Three years ago, a gentleman from a foreign country came to Fertöszeg, and took such a fancy to the isolated house that he leased it from the baron, the former owner, on condition that no one but himself and servants should be permitted to enter the grounds belonging to the castle. The question now is, will Katinka hugom consent to the conditions, or will she revoke them?”

“And if I should choose to do the latter?” inquired the baroness.

“Then your ladyship would be obliged to give a handsome bonus to the lessee. Shall you revoke the conditions?”

“It depends entirely on the sort of person my tenant proves to be.”

“He is a very peculiar man, to say the least—one who avoids all contact with his fellow-men.”

“What is his name?”

“I don’t think any one around here knows it. That is why his residence has been called the Nameless Castle.”

“But how is it possible that the name of a man who has lived here three years is not known?”

“Well, that is easily explained. He never goes anywhere, never receives visitors, and his servants never call him anything but ‘the count.’ ”

“Surely he receives letters by post?”

“Yes, frequently, and from all parts of the known world. Very often he receives letters which contain money, and for which he is obliged to give a receipt; but no one has yet been able to decipher the illegible characters on the letters addressed to him, or those of his own hand.”