The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life

"Yes, Samuel; a review of the past will convince you that I was always a faithful brother to you: that, for your sake, I sacrificed what mankind prize as most high and valuable; and that I have a claim upon your gratitude.

"I was a child when my mother died, but I was old enough to become conscious of the change in my life when our father married for the second time. Your mother was the bane of my childhood. Before she was a mother she hated me, because I reminded her of what she longed for; and when you were born, she feared lest I should share our father's property with you. Everybody pitied me, and there were some people who wished me to hate you. But I loved you. I loved to embrace you; to hear you speak, and to teach you my childish games. I was neglected, hated, and persecuted; but I had a brother, and I hoped to be happy when he came to be a man. My childhood was so utterly wretched, that my hopes had nothing but the distant future, and the older I grew, the more insupportable became my condition. You say my father loved me. He never showed it. The slightest mark of kindness from him would have prevented me from quitting his roof as I did. My departure from home was covered by a distant relation of my mother's, who found the means and the passports for a journey to a foreign country. He supported me during the first years of my voluntary exile. At the end of three years he died. Death surprised him with such awful rapidity, that no time was left to inform his friends of my whereabouts, or to provide for me in his will, and I found myself, at the commencement of my studies at Göttingen, thrown upon my own resources, and, though not friendless on foreign soil, I felt homesick. But I had no faith in my father's affection, and I conquered that feeling. My poverty could not shake my resolution. I worked for my living, and was happy and proud that I could support myself. I lived thus for more than ten years. My longings for my country passed away. I all but forgot my mother's language; and when I passed my examinations and took my degrees, I felt as a native of the foreign land in which I lived. It was at this time I saw your name in the lists of the University of Heidelberg. I left Göttingen, and hastened to meet you.

"I write this, not to reproach you. If I was useful to you, your presence was a source of happiness to me. What I wish is, to remind you of those happy days, of those days when there were no secrets between us; when it was as unlikely that I should ask for any thing that could give you pain, as that you should refuse to comply with any of my requests.

"No one knew of our consanguinity, and many people wondered at our friendship; I was so much older than you. Even Tengelyi could never suspect that we were brothers. We agreed to return together to my father's house, and to ask his pardon for my rash and injudicious step.

"Heaven would have it otherwise. You knew the woman whose love caused me to forget all other ties, and to make her country mine. I knew my father was proud. I knew that my chosen wife would be a source of annoyance and sorrow to him. He could never be reconciled to the marriage of his son with the daughter of an artisan; and you, too, advised me to take the place which at that time was offered to me, and to remain in Germany.

"My happiness was of short duration. My wife died a few months after your departure from Heidelberg. I felt very lonely. You were far away. Tengelyi had left the place before you. My soul was sorrowful, even unto death. I resolved to turn my steps homewards, but I did not inform you of my resolution.

"I wished to see my father and his house before introducing myself to him as his son. What I saw convinced me that it was better to remain unknown as long as my father lived. My name and my claims to the property were likely to inflame your mother's hate against me, and the prodigal's return would have embittered the last days of his father. We resolved to keep the secret between us; and when your recommendation caused me to be appointed to the curacy of Tissaret, I had no reason to desire a change of my position. I lived in the house as one of the family. My father, led by instinct, loved me like a son, and I was permitted to cheer his declining age. Your mother died, and my father's death followed soon afterwards. In his last hour I knelt by his bed, told him who I was, and asked his pardon. He wept. He embraced and blessed me as his son. You were present, he blessed you too, and entreated us to be of one mind, and to love one another.

"After my father's death there was no obstacle to my assuming my real name; but while I stayed in your house a variety of circumstances had come to my knowledge which prevented my taking that step. Our father was in debt, and you and your wife had, for some years, lived on your expectations. To claim my share of the property was to condemn you to a life of privations and regret; and to assume my name and resign my heritage was ungenerous. It was burdening you with an obligation in the eyes of the world. Besides, I was fond of my new vocation, and I felt that the position my name would give me was likely to interfere with my duties as a clergyman. I entreated you not to reveal the secret of my birth to the world. As it was, I could live with you, and love you as a brother, and that was all I wanted.

"The world would say that I sacrificed much to you. I sacrificed a name of which you yourself are proud, a fine property, and an enviable position; for though I am not eager for honours, I have often felt that my power of doing good to my fellow creatures would be greater if I had not resigned the advantages of my birth. Do not force me to believe that I made that sacrifice for one who is unworthy of it!

"Tengelyi's fate is in your hands. It is in your power to save him, and to restore his honour and reputation to their pristine purity. I need not tell you how you can do it. But, my brother, if you ever loved me, if our father's last prayer is indeed sacred to you, and unless you wish me to curse the moment in which my love for you induced me to sacrifice my interests for your sake, – do, for your children's sake, for the sake of your hopes of heaven, what your duty and conscience command you to do.

"Balthasar."

The sheriff had just read the last lines of this letter, when the door opened. His brother stood before him.

When Kalman returned from Dustbury, he went to Vandory, and gave him an account of Tengelyi's situation; on hearing which, the curate hastened to the sheriff, to intercede in behalf of his friend.

Vandory's arrival took the sheriff by surprise. He was not prepared for an interview with his brother; and, evidently confused, he held out his hand. But the curate did not seize it. His face had lost its habitually mild expression. It was solemn and severe.

"Balthasar!" said the sheriff, sadly; "will you not take the hand which I hold out to you?"

"Samuel!" replied the curate; "why should our hands meet, since our hearts are far asunder?"

The sheriff threw himself back in his chair.

"Alas!" cried he; "and you, too, repulse me! you, too, condemn me, Balthasar! you, whose heart is so full of love and pity!"

Vandory was deeply moved by the sorrow which his brother's features expressed.

"I condemn no one," said he. "Believe me, I would not have come to you if I were not convinced that your good natural disposition would triumph over these guilty passions. But the least delay is fatal. Tengelyi is in prison – "

"Don't name him!" cried Rety, violently. "Would to God I had never heard his name!"

"You are indeed far gone," sighed Vandory. "To think that, instead of repenting, you should hate the man whose pardon you ought to implore!"

"Implore his pardon? his?" cried Rety. "No! he is the spoiler, the destroyer! Is it not he who caused my only son to leave my house, cursing fate which made him son to me? Is it not he who robs me of the affections of the last person that loved me? Tell me of one of my sufferings which may not be traced to him!"

"And who is the cause of all this?"

The sheriff was silent.

"Whose fault is it," continued Vandory, with great earnestness, "that the bonds of friendship which once united you are now torn asunder? Who was the persecutor? who the destroyer?"

The sheriff would have spoken, but Vandory proceeded: —

"Tengelyi is in prison. He is locked up with murderers and thieves; and you, the sheriff of the county, use your power and influence only to wreak your vengeance upon him, and to add to his sufferings. Who, I ask, is the injured party?"

"I am not the cause of the notary's sufferings," said the sheriff, pettishly. "I am convinced of his innocence; but I cannot stay the arm of justice, even though it strike in a wrong direction."

"Samuel!" replied the curate, sadly, "that excuse will exculpate you in the eyes of man; but how will you stand with it before God, when He calls you to account for Tengelyi's sufferings?"

"I've done all I could do!" retorted Rety. "I offered to bail him. I implored Skinner, and I instructed Kenihazy, to treat the notary with the greatest mildness. Can you, in reason, ask me to do more?"

"I, as your brother, can indeed ask you to do more! I sacrificed everything to you – "

The sheriff looked confused and ashamed.

"Fear nothing," said the curate, with a sneer (the first he ever was guilty of): "nobody can hear my words. You need not be ashamed to be reminded of what, it seems, you have forgotten; namely, that it is your brother who speaks to you."

Rety made an unsuccessful attempt to speak; but Vandory continued: —

"Yes; I am your brother. The papers by which I could have proved my birth are lost. A court of justice might, perhaps, refuse to hear me, if I were to claim my name and property; but you know the truth of what I say, and you cannot deny that I treated you as a brother ought to do."

"My gratitude – " muttered Rety.

"Where is it? Where is the brotherly affection which was to indemnify me for the loss of wealth; that is to say, of power and influence to do good? This is the fulfilment of your voluntary promise never to refuse any request of mine! I confided in those promises; for I was convinced that I should never abuse my power. We were happy as it was; and I was satisfied with my position, which gave me an opportunity to improve the condition of the peasantry. Even our former intimacy with Tengelyi was on the point of being restored. He was willing to forgive and to forget. Your children were a new bond of union between you. Whose fault was it that those happy days are gone? I will not accuse you; but I will ask you, when were you happier, – then, or now? You sigh? Oh, Samuel! why did you not listen to the still small voice within you, which protested against the first step on that fatal path? I will not talk of the heartlessness with which you treated Tengelyi. Akosh loved Vilma. You knew it was my dearest wish that these children should not be separated; but your pride revolted at the thought that your son should marry the daughter of a notary; and Tengelyi, the friend of your youth, was ordered to leave your house!"

"I knew nothing of my wife's doings!" cried the sheriff. "I would never have consented to her treating the notary as she did."

"Be it so!" continued Vandory, warmly, and even passionately. "I will not argue with you whether that assertion agrees with what you did afterwards. As the world goes, a father has a right to dictate to his children; I will not quarrel with you because you abused that right. But the abstraction of my documents – "

The sheriff started up. "All is lost!" cried he. "My own brother condemns me as a villain!"

"God sees my heart!" replied Vandory. "When the first attempt at a robbery was made in my house, I would have spurned such a suspicion. I made a voluntary resignation of my birthright. How, then, could I suspect that any one should desire to rob me of the documents by which I could prove my rights? That I had no suspicion against you, is shown by my informing you and your wife of my intention to commit those papers to Tengelyi's keeping. But when the robber followed them even to my friend's house; when Viola accused the attorney and your wife as guilty of the theft; when I considered that no one besides you could take an interest in those papers – "

Vandory stopped before he pronounced his conclusion. The sheriff covered his face with his hands.

"I am not naturally prone to suspect any one," continued the curate; "and to suspect you, of all men, gives me unspeakable grief. If you can explain it, if you can exculpate yourself, – I will thank God, and ask your forgiveness, even on my knees!"

Rety rose from his chair. His heart was full, to overflowing. Not to speak was death to him. So he told his brother the share which his wife had taken in the robbery, and of her having informed him of it after the deed was done. "You may despise me," continued he; "you may hate me; but I could not, I cannot, act otherwise than I did. My evil genius induced me to marry that beldame. I was blinded by her family, her beauty, and by the praises of people who called her the queen of the county. I knew that she married me for my fortune; and I never mentioned your existence to her. Afterwards, I waited for a good opportunity to break the matter to her; until circumstances forced me to an explanation. She discovered my son's attachment to Vilma, and insisted on my sending Tengelyi, or, rather, Vilma, out of the house. As for me, I admit that I would have liked it better if Akosh had chosen another woman for his wife; but, partly for your sake, and partly because I hoped that he would change his mind, I refused to obey Lady Rety's commands. She acted for herself; and, when I reproached her, she sneered at me for being in fear of a curate and a poor notary. It was then I told her of your real position, and of the power you had of depriving me of one half of my estates. The wretched woman would not be dependent on your generosity: she availed herself of the attorney's help to deprive you of the papers by which you could prove your claims."

"My poor Samuel!" cried Vandory.

"Oh, my brother!" continued the sheriff; "neither you nor any one else can conceive the agony of my heart! My children turn away from me; my reputation is gone; and you yourself consider me as the partisan of robbers and thieves!"

Vandory would have spoken; but the sheriff continued, violently: —

"Don't speak! don't try to comfort me! I am the accomplice of robbers; and my very position compels me to hush down and cloak this villanous business!"

"The bonds which unite you to your wife are sacred," said the curate. "You are not allowed to abandon her to her fate; and, fallen though she is, it is your duty to defend her. But you must not sin for her. You may, indeed, you ought to, sacrifice yourself for her sake; but it is sinful to endanger the life of a guiltless man merely to shield that guilty woman from the punishment she so richly deserves!"

"I understand you," replied the sheriff; "nor would I hesitate for one moment, if I could save Tengelyi by sacrificing my wife. I hate her! But what is the use of accusing her, and of dishonouring the name of my children? The more clearly it is proved that the attorney robbed Tengelyi of his papers, and that my wife was accessory to the act, the more convincing will be the proof of his seeming guilt."

Vandory acknowledged the justness of this view of the case. He admitted that the sheriff was unable to effect Tengelyi's liberation; and he therefore entreated him to protect the notary against the petty persecutions of his enemies. The sheriff was amazed when Vandory informed him of the manner in which the people at Dustbury had thought proper to execute his orders respecting Tengelyi. He promised to go to Dustbury early the next morning, and to provide for the prisoner's comforts.

"Do, Samuel," said Vandory; "do your best for poor Tengelyi, and leave it to God to do the rest."

The sheriff sighed.

"Be of good cheer!" continued the curate: "let us hope for better days."

"Brother!" said Rety, sadly; "the man whose conscience accuses him, knows neither hope nor comfort."

CHAP. VI

A few days after Tengelyi's incarceration, Mrs. Ershebet removed to Dustbury, where she hired a small house. The wretched woman was a prey to the deepest misery. She was proud of her husband. She was accustomed to hear his praises wherever she went. It was generally admitted that Tengelyi was the most honest and upright man in the county; and that man, the pride of her heart, and her idol, was in gaol! He was accused of a crime: the dangers which threatened him made her shudder. Ershebet was a strong-minded woman. She stood by Tengelyi in all the reverses and vicissitudes of his life. But the last blow was more than she could bear. Her distress made her careless of everything; even her daughter's society and conversation failed to cheer her, and her former friends were convinced that she could not survive Tengelyi's sentence.

Vilma, on the other hand, rose with the storm. She was convinced of her father's innocence, and firm in her hopes of better days. Her sorrow was of the keenest, but it was tempered by her conviction that it was her duty to cheer her mother, and by her love for Akosh, whose devotion kept pace with the unfortunate events which threatened for ever to destroy the honour and prosperity of the notary's family. The sheriff was now no longer opposed to the wishes of his son; indeed, there was nothing to prevent the perfect happiness of the young couple, except their anxiety concerning Tengelyi's fate.

The notary himself bore the blows of misfortune with his usual sturdy perseverance, but, we regret to say, with more than his usual bitterness. Neither Völgyeshy's advice, nor the entreaties of Akosh and Vandory, could induce him to see the sheriff. He refused to avail himself even of the legal remedies which were at his command, unless they agreed with his ideas of what the law ought to be; and Völgyeshy's complaints that his conduct was likely to injure the defence, he met with dogged indifference.

"I am innocent!" was his usual plea on such occasions. "My innocence will sooner or later come to light; and although I am forced to prove that I am not guilty, I will at least avoid guilty means in doing so."

This was the state of affairs during winter; nor was it changed in the beginning of spring. The prisoner passed that time surrounded by all the comforts, and even luxuries, which the ingenuity of the sheriff could devise, and which the nature of a gaol would admit of. His little room was comfortably furnished; he was not without society, and among those who visited him, no one was more assiduous or more eager to effect a formal reconciliation between the notary and the sheriff, than Völgyeshy the advocate. It is in the midst of one of their discussions on the manner and time of the defence, that we find them on a fine day in March.

"Consider, my friend," said Völgyeshy; "there can be no humiliation in your speaking a few kind words to the sheriff: nor is there any meanness in writing one or two simple lines to the lord-lieutenant, entreating him to adjourn your case."

"But I tell you it is a humiliation!" retorted the notary. "I will not condescend to beg for mercy. I am innocent. If they condemn me, it is their affair, not mine!"

"But you need not beg for mercy," replied the advocate, with a sigh. "All I desire is, that you should treat people with kindness and civility; that you should not insult them when they show you sympathy, as you did the other day when Kriver and the attorney-general called on you."

"And what is the use of this sympathy? Do these people think me guiltless? No! they came because the lord-lieutenant mentioned my name with kindness? Am I to herd with beings like these?"

"My dear sir!" entreated the advocate, "consider the nature of the charge; pray consider the consequences of your conduct!"

"The consequences? Oh, I am aware that my conduct leads me to the scaffold!" replied the notary, passionately. "Let them do their worst; and may my blood be on their heads! I am not their first victim, nor indeed the last."

"And your family!" cried Völgyeshy. "What is to become of your wife and children?"

Tengelyi covered his face and wept. At last he said, with a trembling voice: —

"What is it you wish me to do? Am I to kneel to Skinner? am I to bribe false witnesses? or have recourse to some equally infamous means? I know that these things have more effect in our courts than the musty legal remedies which they taught us at college. We adopt a homœopathic treatment to cure wickedness. If you are accused of a crime, you may save yourself by committing a crime. Our Dustbury magistrates wish to prove their oriental descent, by extorting presents from the suitors in their courts. I know it all; but how can you ask me to condescend to sue and to bribe?"

"My dear friend, you are unreasonable!" said Völgyeshy, seizing the notary's hand.

"Unreasonable!" cried Tengelyi. "I, of all men, have cause to be so. I commenced life as an enthusiast, I grant it; but were its lessons lost upon me? No! All I have latterly wished for was, to be a useful and humble member of the community, and to end my life in peace. But even this is denied me. My wife is not likely to survive my misfortune; my daughter's grief, though less avowed, is not less acute. My son has to enter life with a dishonoured name: and after all this, I am expected to abandon my principles! Is it not enough to drive a man mad?"

"No!" replied Völgyeshy; "for no honest man was ever in so distressing a situation, and without his own fault too. I admit all you complain of; but what I say is, that there is no humiliation in your asking the lord-lieutenant and Rety to adjourn the decision in your case."

The notary shook his head, and replied, —

"My asking them to delay the sentence, what is it but a confession that I doubt the justice of my own cause?"

"By no means. It is a proof that you do not consider the case ripe for decision. We cannot but admit, as it stands at present, that all the evidence is against us. Public opinion is in your favour. Nobody doubts your innocence, though there is no evidence we can adduce in support of our statement of the case. If you were to be judged by a jury of your countrymen, I am sure I would not hesitate to appeal to their verdict. But the judges cannot travel out of the record, and they cannot but decide against us. Time may do a great deal for us. That Jew is now dying of typhus fever; who knows but he may recover, and our promises may induce him to confess the truth? Perhaps we may find out Viola, and defeat the accusation by producing him; perhaps some circumstance may turn up – "

Here the advocate's argument was interrupted by Janosh, the hussar, who had quietly entered the room and listened to the latter part of the conversation. Yielding to the entreaties of his son, the sheriff had consented to let Janosh wait upon the notary in prison; a duty which the old trooper fulfilled with so much alacrity, that even Tengelyi was moved by the devotion and kindness of his new servant.

"I say, sir," said the hussar, approaching the table at which Völgyeshy and the notary were seated, "is it a fact that they cannot injure you if we manage to produce Viola?"

"Certainly!" replied Völgyeshy; "if Viola could be induced to appear and to confess that it was he who killed the attorney, there can be no doubt but that the decision would be in our favour."

"Then the great thing is to find him?" said the hussar.

"We have tried it in vain," replied the advocate, with a sigh. "We have sent orders to all the justices, we have written to all the counties, but nothing has come of it."

"Well, sir, no wonder he dodged you," said Janosh, shaking his head; "who the deuce thinks of sending a drummer to catch rats? Viola won't leave his address at a justice's, I promise you."

"But what are we to do? Do you know of any other way?"

"Of course I do! it's the only way to do the thing. If you hunt after your watch, some thief will tell you where it was last heard of. If you wish to find Viola, you had better speak to some of his cronies."

"We have asked the Liptaka, and Peti the gipsy?" replied the lawyer.

"Well, as far as the gipsy is concerned," said the hussar, "I'll be bound that cunning creature could give us a hint or two, if he thought proper. But who knows whether he was not a party to the murder of the attorney? Besides, he is Viola's sworn brother, and thinks, perhaps, they would hang him, if they had him fast and sure."