"You see, my dear boy," continued the old man, fondly taking my hand and pressing it, "it is a princely domain that I offer you, and a princely income. The station I invest you with is that of a king in its way, and not a small way, either. Now listen to me! For a great number of years I have lived here on this spot, like one of those hermits of bygone times, living on roots and other primitive food, and never tasting of a decent cooked meal, because I have never ceased to fear that those who wished to get my money would try to poison me in order to get it sooner. This fear I know no longer. I know well that my time expires next year; but of this one year of life I am assured, and I am resolved to make the best of it. I want to eat nice roasts, good cakes, and other delicate dishes, and I want to drink wine. I have not tasted wine since 1809, when I was studying law and attached as juratus to the Personal. For many years I did not seem to care about it; but now I long for it, and I remember how delicious it used to taste."

"But, my dear uncle, this would not be wise. Such a change would absolutely kill you."

"Tut! tut! Never fear! I am sure of the one year, and am not going to bargain with Death for more. Give me the one year, and let me enjoy it according to my wishes—that is all I ask for. But for a safeguard against extravagances, should not I have a skilled and renowned physician living with me and looking after me daily? Don't you see that your professional attendance will prevent all evil results, so that I shall be perfectly safe? I could not have lighted upon a better plan than making you my heir, and letting you live with me. Of course, I could have taken a housekeeper; but I know womankind. In less than half a year she would have persuaded me to marry her and settle all my belongings on her, and this would not do for a Dumany. But if you come to live with me, everything will be different. I'll let you have the whole mansion, and keep nothing but my old room, of which I am fond, because I am used to it and to the old, dingy, broken furniture that's in it. You should marry, and bring your pretty little wife into the house, and she would sing to me and play the piano or the organ, and would keep pretty little chambermaids that I could pat on the cheeks, and your little wife would let me kiss her fair, soft little hands; it would be delicious! Then I should hear a little scolding and quarrelling in the house, and you would take care that your little lady-wife should not spoil me by too much fondness, and you would order my dinners and select my wearing apparel according to my health. Perhaps I might sleep a little after meals at the open window—a luxury I always longed for, but did not dare to indulge in. This would be life for me, and a slow and sweet transit from the cares and troubles of this world into heaven."

The old man became quite excited over this ideal picture of happiness. "I speak of heaven," he continued, "and this reminds me of the church. Do you know why I say my prayers outside among the beggars, and never go into the church? Not out of humility, but because at present there is only a simple Slav minister here, and I am not over-anxious to listen to his orations. Besides, the church is always so full of the Slav peasants that you cannot breathe inside of it, such an infernal odour is diffused by them. But if you would come to live here, and bring a gentle little Hungarian lady with you, perhaps the bishop could be induced to send some nice Hungarian priest to preach to us; and I am very fond of a good sermon, especially if I could listen to it comfortably in my pew, as you may wager that not one of these burly peasants would go inside the church if the service were held in Hungarian. And then just fancy the happiness if there should be a christening in the family, and I should be godfather to your son! Would not that be glorious? Oh, if I could live to see it! You must make haste and marry, or I'll put speed into you, you may rely on that!"

I was ready with my diagnosis by the time he had finished his last sentence. Hallucinations born of religious frenzy; idiosyncrasies with allotriophagical symptoms, a consequence of his ascetical mode of living; nymphomania of old age; hypochondriacal fancies: all symptoms that are frequently found together. To second his morbid intention of changing his diet and habits would be sheer lunacy; nay, worse, it would be actual murder. Yet first I must win his confidence as a physician, so that he may trust me and take my advice. I embraced him, and thanked him most heartily and tenderly for his kind intentions, which I should never forget and should always feel grateful for; but I said, brilliant and splendid as it was, I could not accept his proposition, I could not give up the career I had entered, the profession I had embraced and which I loved, and the independent and honoured position I was proud of. My calling was everything to me—life, happiness, fortune, and ambition; and to give up my profession in order to till my farm, to exchange my study, laboratory, and dissecting-table for the petty cares and troubles of a country squire and a county member, would be physical and mental death to me.

The old man smiled. "You talk so because you cannot comprehend the importance of the position you will fill as the lord of my Slavic kingdom, because you cannot guess the amount of the wealth I offer you. You shall know it, and you are the only person alive to whom I have ever spoken, or shall ever speak about it. You think this old mansion looks as dreary and rotten inside as out; but you are mistaken. This residence of the so-called Slav King is a princely seat, and it hides treasures that monarchs and potentates would be proud to possess. If any one of the family calls on me, he finds me in my dingy little hole of a room, which, with an old rotten table, broken chairs, mutilated chest of drawers, and coarse bed with bear-skin coverlet, looks poor and inhospitable enough, and my visitors are generally glad to escape into the open air again, thinking that the whole house resembles this room in appearance; whereas, were I to throw the doors open, and show them the splendour of the rooms and halls, they would stare in amazement. Every one of the rooms is a perfect museum, and contains precious rarities. One is full of carved furniture of costly woods, inlaid with ivory, mother-of-pearl, gold and silver, and rich stones of the time of 'UlÁszlÓ.' The next contains all sorts of pottery of past centuries—Roman and Etruscan, Chinese and Japanese, SÈvres and Dresden, old Hungarian, and so forth. The third room is full of weapons of all ages—panoplies, coats of mail, shields, bucklers, saddles. In the fourth room are gowns and trains and coats of brocade, and artistic embroidery and tapestry. The fifth room is a picture-gallery of unlimited value; and then comes a library that has not its equal on this continent, nor, I may say, on any other. High up to the ceiling the large hall is filled with precious and rare old products; books with clasps that are themselves curiosities of rare beauty. But those books! If your medical colleagues had the privilege of entering this library and peeping into those books, I doubt if they would be willing to part with them ever after. Why, there is actually a book to invoke the devil with! I did not dare to look into it, but you young fellows are such sceptics that you will deny the existence of God and Devil presently, and you will take the risk of reading that book.

"All these treasures were hoarded together by my father—may God bless and rest his soul! He was called a miser throughout his life, and he denied himself all comfort in order to spend his income in replenishing his collection of rarities. Shortly after the birth of his second son, your father, our mother grew tired of his mania and the sacrifices she had daily to make, and left him, taking us boys with her, while he remained alone among his beloved curiosities, which became dearer to him on account of the high price he had to pay for them. When we boys—your father and I—grew up, your father grew daily more like our mother, while I became strangely infatuated with the old man and his store of curiosities. He was also fond of me, showed me all his treasures, dwelling upon the particular beauty of each. Miser as our father was, he occasionally gave money to his younger son, but he never gave any to me, and I had to consider this as an especial favour, for had I not the privilege of sharing the main interest of his life?

"When my father died, there was hardly enough ready money in his desk to pay his funeral expenses, and he had left a very strange will. He had kept minute accounts of the amount he had spent each day and year for different objects. All the money he had given to my mother and my younger brother was reckoned up and subtracted from their share under his will. He wrote that, as he knew that his wife was well provided for, having a considerable fortune of her own, he left her a life-estate in such one of his many domains as she might select. With regard to his two sons, one had never shown him any love, and visited him only when in want of spending-money; the other had never asked for a penny, although he had received less from his mother than her favourite, the younger. Yet, as a dutiful father, he did not wish to be partial; therefore his sons were to divide his lands, goods, and chattels in the following manner:—One was to take all his ready money, bonds, and objects of gold, silver, and jewellery of recent workmanship (meaning the present century), besides his horses and cattle, and the wine in the cellars; while the other was to take possession of all the lands and the residuary estate, on condition that he should reside in this particular mansion and take charge of the museum therein, that he should never marry, never accept any public office, in order that the treasures under his care might receive the full benefit of his resources. He was required to pledge himself to live in exactly the same secluded and frugal way as his father, and to take his oath that during his lifetime and stewardship he would not sell or give away one particle of the estate, whether real or personal, which he received under the will. Further, he must give up all claim on his mother's estate for ever, and must relinquish all that she might give or bequeath him to his brother.

"To say that your father was furious would hardly express his state of mind. I have already said that the whole amount of cash left was barely enough for the funeral expenses. The bonds which were found proved to be so many worthless pieces of parchment. The jewellery of recent workmanship consisted of a set of valueless shirt-studs and a watch that would not have fetched ten florins at auction. Of silver there was a tablespoon, a teaspoon, a ladle, and two or three pieces of tableware, bent, crooked, and broken, hardly worth the mentioning. Of horses there were two lean and decrepit-looking animals, and the cattle consisted of a diminutive black cow and her calf, neither of much value, yet forming no doubt the most valuable part of the whole bequest. This was your father's portion, for as to his taking the other part, giving up the prospect of our mother's goodly store of money and other property, and living a secluded life as guardian of a museum, that was entirely out of the question.

"To tell that I felt pleased or glad on taking possession of the immense wealth my father had left me would be a falsehood. I was young, and not altogether devoid of the passions and inclinations pertaining to that age. But I had interpreted the true spirit of my father's will, and I knew that all this seeming spite and injustice was really a token of his great love for me and of his great wisdom. Had he not stipulated such hard conditions, my brother would have taken and squandered these lands and goods as he squandered our mother's fortune, and I should not have been able now to say to his only son, 'Stay with me, and receive at my hands the undiminished fortune which your grandfather entrusted to my care.' How immense that fortune is you may guess, when I tell you that one year's income, large as it is, was not sufficient to pay the legacy-taxes. But come, let me show you everything, and give you an idea of the Slavic kingdom to which I invite you."

We entered the mansion, an old chÂteau built in the time of King Albert, under the dynasty of the Mazures. Strong walls of cut stone, like the ramparts of a fortress; great projecting, mullioned oriel windows; everywhere the Dumany coat-of-arms hewn in stone, wrought in iron, carved in wood. The main entrance was walled up; the middle portion of the building contained but one storey; the wings, too, were low, but in the rear of the house there was a large, high turret.

A heavy oaken door, beautifully carved, gave access to this turret, and as this was at present the only approach to the interior of the house, we had to cross halls and corridors until we reached the floor of the main building. As we entered, my uncle locked the massive portal and put the key in his pocket. When, in order to do this, he lifted the lapel of his long zrinyi dolmÁny (old-fashioned Hungarian coat), I could see the butts of his pistols, which were always loaded and ready to his hands. He noticed the smile on my lips, and said testily, shrugging his shoulders, "What can I do? I have to think of my personal safety at all times. Wickedness has not died out of the world, and a poor lone old man is rather a temptation to robbers. To keep a manservant for protection would not do. He would be the very person to kill me, having me at his mercy all the time; and as to keeping a dog for the purpose, I could not think of it. A dog may bite, and there is danger in that; and, besides, his keep costs just as much as a man's. He will eat up a fortune in time. But when you are here, you will have servants and dogs, and all the rest, and there will be no more need of my pistols."

My uncle took me directly to his treasures. With all he had said to excite my curiosity, he had not said enough. For here were treasures indeed, and I could readily believe that in these luxurious creations of long-forgotten ages and races a strong witchcraft was pent, and that a man might grow to give his heart and soul to them. My uncle could give me the date of every object. This statuette is a Praxiteles; this picture a Guido Reni; Benvenuto Cellini was the owner of this goblet; and this sword was that of Sultan Soliman.

It was dusk, and the shadows of night were falling fast when I quitted the museum. My uncle and I returned to the narrow turret-room in which he had taken up his abode for the last seventy years and more. This room of itself was a sight to see, and I was slightly faint and dizzy from bewilderment at what I had already beheld. "You see, my boy," said the old man again, "I have not lied to you; and when you are once established here, and open these rooms to your visitors, all the barons, and counts, and princes will stare at them with open mouth, and will cajole you, flatter you, and bring their handsomest daughters for you to choose a wife from; for such is the power of wealth. But do not believe that the rarities I have shown you are all that I can give. For what would be the good of the offer if I gave you nothing else? You would have to lead a miserable existence like mine, for you could not soil those things—no, not to save your life. If once you come to take possession of them, you will find that you belong to them as much as they to you. You will cling to them and neglect the present, only to live in the forgotten past. The beauty of women you will admire in these pictures only; the beauty of Nature in these stones and minerals. For politics you will not care, and home will mean to you this mansion, which encloses your treasure. Oh, the air of these rooms is poisonous to youth, and mirth, and love!"

"Yes, uncle," I said, earnestly, "and to ambition and independence, and all good and right purposes, also; and therefore I cannot stay with you, for I have chosen my path in life, and I will adhere to it in spite of these powerful temptations."

"Oh, you are afraid that they will convert you into a miser and a hermit, as I have become! But I can give you a potent antidote, which was never given to me; that is, ready money. Come, and I'll show you what you have never seen, and assuredly never dreamed of. You see this large iron chest, itself a rare piece of workmanship, and stronger and safer than any of your new inventions? Come, let me show you how to unlock it, for it is difficult; and one who was unacquainted with the secret of this lock might try until Doomsday to force it open, and all to no purpose. See, it turns this way, and at this point you must stop. If in all three locks the keys have been turned to this point, the chest will open. The contents will rebuild this old castle, will buy you horses and carriages, and all the home luxuries of modern times, and will enable you to keep up with the richest and the noblest of them all. Keep up, I say—nay, go ahead of them; and still you will have what money cannot buy for them—your museum. Oh, the Dumanys shall be a powerful race once more, and I shall live to see it!"

He lifted the heavy lid of the chest, and I saw a number of linen bags and an equally large number of bladders. The linen bags, my uncle explained, were full of silver coins, the bladders of gold coins.

"You see," he continued, "there are fourteen hundred acres of ground belonging to this estate—rather a handsome piece of property in this part of the country. It has all been leased out to farmers for many, many years, almost a century, and it has greatly deteriorated. But this money will help you to improve the soil also, and it will yield you more than the twelve thousand acres of Count VernÖczy's estate can do, for half of that land has been turned into a deer-park, and the other half is imperfectly cultivated. Look at the bundles of reeds there in the corner. You have wondered at them, no doubt; and at all those pipes on the shelf yonder. You asked me if I was a smoker. I am, but I do not smoke out of those pipe-stems. Both they and the reeds are money-boxes, every one of them. In them I keep the bank-notes which I have had to take during the last seventy years. They represent a fortune in themselves. I hardly know myself how much money they contain. You can split them, and find out when you come to live with me. I'll settle it all on you in legal fashion, and keep nothing but my own room. You can do with the rest as you please; build and rebuild, buy and furnish, to suit your fancy. Only let me live the one year that remains to me pleasantly and in plenty, and promise me three things: Never to till your acres after the ideas you will get from the text-books; never to do a kindness to a great lord; and never to quarrel or get vexed with a woman."

"I promise you whatever you wish, dear uncle," said I; "but, since I have listened to you for quite a while, you must now listen to me. You have called me in the capacity of a doctor, and as such I must speak to you."

"Do you know a remedy for old age?" was his sarcastic inquiry.

"I do, to grow older still. You do not look a bit older or feebler than you did ten years ago, and there is no positive reason why you should not live for ten years longer, or even more, provided you do not change your course of living in the least degree. The slightest change of habits, of diet, or of dress, may prove fatal at your age. I know that you are not afraid of death, and that you also have taken St. John the Nepomuc's word for the remaining year. But, my dear uncle, saints are sometimes ambiguous, and there is something that resembles a living death, a prospect too horrible to dwell upon, yet dreadfully near. A single meal of some heavy, unwonted food, one glass of liquor, may bring it on. It is called paralysis, and when it comes, St. Nepomuc may stick to his word and give you a year, but what a year that would be!"

He looked at me with a troubled face, and I pressed his hands and said, "Yes, dear uncle; you have to stick to the old, long-travelled road, and then I may hope to see you ten years hence as hearty as you are now, or as you were ten years ago. For you are in perfect health otherwise, and there is no need whatever of my staying with you. Only beware of indigestion, and you will be all right. As for myself, I shall never cease to remember your kindness and to feel grateful for it, but to accept your offer would be moral death to me. I have to go back to my profession, and if you, dear uncle, dislike our other relatives, and do not want to leave them your property, then give it to such patriotic and charitable institutions as deserve patronising, and you may be sure that your memory will be blessed by thousands. Of me you need not think. I am not the man to speculate on another man's death, and build my future on a grave."

The old man looked curiously at me; then he sighed, and embraced me. "Thank you, my dear fellow!" he said; "I see you are a truly honest man and no hypocrite. I won't offer you any money: on the contrary, I'll ask a further favour. Before you leave, I'll give you a letter, which you will personally hand to the Prefect at his residence at the county seat, which is on your way to Vienna. I am afraid to entrust this letter to the mail, as there are very valuable papers in it, and you will have to take a receipt for it from the magistrate. This receipt you need not send me, but keep it safe; and if you come to this house again, you may bring it with you."

With that the old man showed me out into the garden, carefully unlocking and re-locking the door, and securing the key. "Thank you for coming to me, my dear fellow," he said. "And since you decline to take anything of actual value from me, let me offer you something that has only fanciful value, yet is dearer to me than all the treasures within the house. See these Remontan roses in their second bloom—for instance, this Sultan of Morocco, the most perfect specimen of its kind? I gave a NapolÉon d'or for the scion, and this is its first year of flowering. Here, take it!"

With that he actually cut the blossom from the stalk, and handed it to me. It was a magnificent flower, and almost black, with but a slight purple tinge. It was the darkest-hued rose known at that time. Later on the "Deuil d'Alsace" came out of Pandora's box. At the time I speak of, that box was in Benedetti's pocket, and more is the pity that the pocket held it so tight.