CHAPTER II.

MISKA THE BEGGAR BOY.

The beggar boy stopped for a moment to roll the purse up carefully in a rag, and to put it and the letter away in the pocket of his dilapidated old jacket. This done he ran on again quickly.

But he was hungry, desperately hungry, famishing--his eyes were starting out of his head; and though he had been much cheered by the liberal present he had received, a good hunch of bread would really have been worth a hundred times as much to him just at this moment. He could think of nothing but the nearest wayside inn.

People who have never known what it is to be more than just hungry enough to have a good appetite, have no idea what the pangs of hunger are, nor what keen pain it is to be actually starving.

Never in his life had he felt such an intense craving as he did now for a plate of hot food and a draught of good wine. He had to summon up all his failing strength, or he would have been quite exhausted before he caught sight of the first roof away in the distance. But when he did catch sight of it, though it was still far off, it put new life into him; and as he hurried on, he could think of nothing but the meal he was going to have. What a sumptuous dinner he gave himself in imagination! It was like a dream without an end, too good to be believed.

At last he stood before the little inn. The chimney was smoking away merrily, and his mouth positively watered as he turned towards the signboard.

All at once, however, he came to a dead halt, struck by a sudden thought.

For a few moments his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground; then he muttered to himself, "Didn't that good gentleman, who has made a rich man of me, say that the business he entrusted me with was of importance, and that he was in a hurry about it? This is the first important thing I have ever been trusted with; and the gentleman was so honourable, and put such confidence in me, and I want to sit down to a feast! It is six months since a drop of wine has touched my lips, and the devil never goes to sleep: I might drink myself as drunk as a dog!"

His right foot was still turned towards the inn, and his eyes were adoringly fixed on the beautiful blue smoke issuing from the chimney. He felt just as if he were bound hand and foot, and a dozen horses were all tugging at him, dragging him to the wineshop.

"I _won't_ go!" said he to himself, sadly but firmly. "It's not the first time I have known what it is to be hungry for twenty-four hours; and he is in a hurry--it's important business."

With that he stepped up to the entrance of the low white house, daring himself, as it were, to go any further, asked for some bread, which he paid for and began to devour at once, drank a good draught of water from the well-bucket, and then ran on as if the Tatars were at his heels, or as if he were afraid to trust himself any longer in such a dangerous neighbourhood.

No royal banquet could have been more delicious than that hunch of dry bread seemed to him, and something in the beggar boy's heart cheered him more than even the best Tokay would have done.

"Miska,[5] you're a man!" he said to himself. "I shall soon be in Visegrad, where I shall feast like a lord. I don't know how it is, but I declare I feel better satisfied with this bit of bread than if I had eaten a whole yard of sausage."

[Footnote 5: Short for Mihaly = Michael.]

But Visegrad was still a long way off--long, that is, when the journey had to be made on foot; for the castle stood on a hill on the Danube, just where the river makes a sudden bend to the south. On the hillside, under the wing of the old fortress, stood a palace built by one of the former kings of Hungary, which is said to have been equal in splendour to Versailles or any other of the most magnificent palaces of Europe; for with its three hundred and fifty rooms it could accommodate two kings, several foreign dukes and marquises, with their respective suites, all at the same time.

The floor of the great hall was paved with valuable mosaics, the ceiling was adorned with Italian frescoes, and the gardens, with their musical fountains, brilliant flower-beds, and marble statues, were declared to be a faithful imitation of the hanging gardens of Babylon!

But Miska's business was with the castle, not the palace; and at last, after a journey which was becoming every hour more and more wearisome, he beheld it rising before him in the distance. It looked, indeed, as if it were but a little way off, so clear was the air; but Miska had lived an out-of-door life too long to be easily deceived in such matters, and he took advantage of the next little wayside inn to buy more bread and get another draught of cool water to help him on his way.

By the time he reached the hill his strength was failing fast, and it was all that he could do to drag himself up past Robert-Charles's palace to the high-perched castle.

When at last he had been admitted and had given the letter into the governor's own hands, he dropped down in a fainting fit, and was carried off to the stables.

He was not long in coming to himself, however, and as soon as he was sufficiently recovered he had a feast "fit for a king," as he said; though he steadily refused to touch a drop of the wine which was brought to him.

The whole time he was eating he kept his eyes fixed on the beautiful horses, wondering which one he should have to ride; and more than once he sent an urgent message to the governor, begging him to let him have the answer to the letter which he was to take to Buda.

"All in good time," said the governor placidly. "He shall be called presently, tell him, when it is time for him to start."

So Miska had nothing for it but to rest in the stable, which was pleasant enough; for where is the Hungarian, old or young, who does not love a horse? Moreover, he was very tired after his long tramp, and presently, in spite of his impatience to be off, he fell into a doze.

He was still dozing comfortably when the sound of a horn roused him.

There was a rush to the castle-gate, and when it was opened, a young man, plainly dressed and alone, rode into the courtyard, where the governor hastened to greet him with affectionate respect. For the newcomer, the horseman whose acquaintance we made outside Mr. Samson's castle, was no other than King Matthias himself.

"Has my messenger, the beggar boy, arrived?" he asked briskly.

"He is yonder in the stable," said the governor; "he has only just come in, very faint, and he is urging me to give him a horse already."

"He is here?" said the king in surprise. "Impossible! I came at a good pace myself, and set out hardly half an hour after him. Call him here."

In a few moments the lad was standing in the presence of the great king, though he was far enough from guessing whom he was talking with.

"It is you, the horseman?" said Miska. "Well, it is not my fault that I am still here. I have been urging Mr. Governor enough, I can tell you. I might have been ever so long on my way by this time, and they haven't yet changed my rags or given me a horse."

"Have you had a good feed?"

"Yes, I have; but I did not dare drink any wine."

"Why not, gossip?"

"That's a foolish question," returned the lad calmly, while the governor turned pale at his audacity. "Why, sir, because it is six months since I had any, and it would go to my head; and a tipsy messenger is like a clerk without hands--they both pipe the same tune."

"Good," said the king, amused. "Then didn't you stop anywhere on the way? You could hardly lift your feet when you started, and you see I had not much faith in you, and came after you."

"Well," said the lad, looking boldly up at Matthias, "to be sure you are a strong-built chap, and I believe you could swallow Mr. Governor here if you were angry; but if your eyes had been starting out of your head with hunger as mine were, I believe you would have been sitting in some _csarda_ [wayside inn] till now. Stop anywhere? The idea of such a thing! As if any one who had business needing haste entrusted to him would think of stopping to rest!"

"Listen, Miska," said the king. "Would you like to be something better than you are now?"

"Hja!" said the beggar, "I might soon be that certainly, for at present I am not worth even so much as a Jew's harp."

"Let us hear, gossip; what would you like to be?"

"Like? Well, really, sir, I have never given it a thought. Hm! what I should like to be? But then, could it be now--at once?"

"That depends upon the extent of your wishes; for you might wish to be governor of Visegrad, and in that case the answer would be, 'Hold in your greyhounds' [don't be in too much hurry]."

"I shouldn't care to be governor, to sit here by a good fire keeping myself warm--though, to be sure, it would be well enough sometimes, especially in winter, when one has such fine clothes as mine, which just let the wind in where they should keep it out; but I should like to be something like that stick on the castle clock which is always moving backwards and forwards--something that is always on the move."

"Always on the move!" laughed the king. "Well then, gossip, I'll take you for my courier; and if you like, you need not keep still a moment."

"I don't mind!" said Miska joyously. "Then I will be a courier."

"You will get tired of it, boy. But tell me one thing: do you know anything?"

Miska fixed his large eyes on the king.

"Anything?" he asked, hurt and flushing. "Really, sir, when I come to consider--thunder!--it seems to me as if I knew just nothing at all!"

"Then do you wish to learn?"

"Go to school?" asked Miska; "I don't wish that at all."

"There is no need for that," said the king; "we will find some other way. Those who want to learn, can learn without going to school. You will learn to write and read, which is only play after all to any one who does not wish to remain a dunce. Do you understand?"

"I don't mind," said Miska.

"Well, then," said the king, turning to the governor, "let him be clothed, and then you can present him."

Thereupon the king withdrew to his own apartments, where some of the great nobles were already waiting for him in one of the saloons, and were not a little surprised to see him appear travel-stained and dusty, but in the most lively spirits.

An hour later Miska had had a bath, and had donned a clean shirt and the becoming livery worn by the royal pages of the second rank.

The change in his attire had completely metamorphosed him, and now, as he stood before the king, the latter was more than ever struck by his face.

"Listen," said he, fixing his keen eyes attentively on the beggar. "You have been well fed, and you have been fresh clothed from top to toe. Now, I don't want you to go to Buda; for you see I am here, and have seen the governor myself. But you remember what I said to you outside Mr. Samson's castle? Well, that shall be the first piece of work you do. I will give you six months, and if you can get inside and bring me word what goes on there, I'll make a man of you. You shall have money to buy anything you may want, and a leather knapsack with linen and all you will want for the journey--for you will have to go on foot. You shall have a horse some day, never fear, if you turn out as I expect; but it would only be in your way now. Well, what do you say?"

The lad knew now that he was in the presence of the king, and Matthias thought all the more highly of him for the way in which he received his dangerous commission. He made no hasty promises, but evidently weighed his words before he spoke.

"Mr. King," said he (for 'Mr.' is used in Hungary in speaking to any one of whatever degree, and people say 'Mr. Duke' or 'Mr. Bishop,' as they do in French)--"Mr. King, God preserve Your Highness, and give you a thousand times as much as you have given to a poor boy like me. I vow"--and here the beggar raised his right hand--"I vow that I will do all I can; and if God keeps me in health and strength, and preserves my senses, I hope to bring Your Highness news of Mr. Samson six months hence, in Buda."

"That's enough," said the king. "Meantime I too shall see what I can do. I shall give Mr. Samson the chance of mending his ways if he will. God be with you on your journey, Miska."

Then putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, he said kindly, "Good-bye, then, till we meet in Buda."