The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life

"Do not trouble yourself, father, dear," interposed Vilma. "We did not send them any thing; we have brought them to this house."

"To my house!" exclaimed Tengelyi. "Did you consider the consequences?"

"I did. I considered that they were sure to perish if they remained where they were; and I entreated the corporal, and implored him, and vowed that I would bear the blame, until he gave me his permission to remove the woman to this house. Nay, more, he helped me to carry her."

"You were right in taking them away," said Tengelyi, walking to and fro, evidently distressed; "I only wish you had taken them to some other place. I would willingly pay for any thing they want. But here! the robber's family in the house of the notary of Tissaret! What will my enemies say to that?"

"But, father, you often told me that we need not care for the judgment of mankind, if we know and feel that we do that which is good and right."

"Of course, if we are quite convinced of that. But they tell me Viola is passionately fond of his wife. She is ill, and he will brave all dangers to come and see her. What am I to do? My duty, as a public functionary, forces me to arrest him, while my feelings revolt at the idea."

"I know you will not arrest him, dearest father," said Vilma, softly. "You cannot do it."

"And suppose I allow him to escape, what then? I shall lose my place. I bear the stigma of being the accomplice of a robber, and nothing is left to us but to beg our bread in the streets."

"No, father, that will never be!" said Vilma, confidingly, though her eyes filled with tears. "God cannot punish you for a good action."

"God may not, but men will sometimes. But do not weep," added Tengelyi, seeing his daughter's tears, "we cannot now undo what you have done, and perhaps my fears are worse than the reality."

"Oh do not be angry with me," sobbed Vilma. "I never thought of the consequences. I never thought that I could be the cause of so great a misfortune."

"Angry?" cried the old man, pressing her to his heart – "I be angry with you? Art thou not my own daughter, my joy, and my pride? my fairest remembrance of the past, my brightest hope of the future?"

"But if Viola were to come," said Vilma, still weeping, "and if things were to happen as you said just now?"

"I know he will not come," replied the anxious father, who would have given anything to have concealed his apprehensions. "And if he were to come, it is ten to one that nobody will know of it. You know I am always full of fears. At all events it is not your fault, for if I had been at home, and if I had known of this woman's distress, I too would have taken her to my house – ay! so I would, though all the world were to turn against me. Dry your tears," he continued, kissing Vilma's forehead, "you did but your duty. Now go and look after the woman, while I go to Vandory: he is half a doctor."

Saying this, the notary hastened away to hide his tears, and as he went he passed some severe strictures on his own weakness, which caused him to indulge in tears, a thing which is only pardonable in a woman.

CHAP. IV

The stranger of the ditch, whom we left in the act of approaching the fire, had meanwhile accomplished that object, and proceeded to the place where a man sat squatting by the flame, poking the burning straws with his staff, and singing a low and mournful melody.

"Are you at it again? again singing the Nagyidai Nota?"6 said the stranger, touching the singer's shoulder.

Peti the gipsy (for it was he who kept his lonely watch by the fire) started up, and, seizing hold of the stranger's hand, dragged him away from the light, whispering, "For God's sake, take care! Some one might see you!"

"Are you mad?" retorted the stranger, disengaging his hands, and returning to the fire. "I've lain in the ditch, and am all a-muck. I must have a warm."

"No, Viola, no!" urged Peti, "the village is filled with your enemies. Who knows but some of them are by? and if you are seen you are done for!"

"Now be reasonable, old man," replied Viola, taking his seat by the fire. "Not a human being is there on this heath that I wot of. What is it you fear?"

"Oh! you know this very afternoon you and I, we were near the wood of St. Vilmosh, and the Pandurs were here close to the park palings, and yet they knew you even at that distance."

"Yes, very much as we knew them. They presumed it was I. But if they have a mind to make my acquaintance, I'd better look after the priming of my pistols. So! Now let them come. After sunset I fear no man."

"Oh! Viola, Viola!" cried Peti. "I know your boldness will be your bane. You laugh at danger, but danger will overtake you."

"But, after all, were it not better to die than to live as I do?" said the robber, feeling the edge of his axe. "I curse the day at dawn because the light of the sun marks my track to the pursuer. The wild bird in the brake causes me to tremble. The trunk of a fallen tree fills me with dread; for who knows but it may hide the form of an enemy? I fly from those I love. I pass my days among the beasts of the forests, and my dreams are of the gallows and the hangman. Such is my life! Believe me, Peti, I have little cause to be in love with life!"

"But your wife and your children!"

"Ah! you are right! my wife and my children!" sighed the robber, and stared fixedly at the fire, whose faint glow sufficed to display to Peti the cloud of deep melancholy which passed over the manly features of his companion.

Viola was a handsome man. His high forehead, partly covered by a forest of the blackest locks, the bold look of his dark eyes, the frank and manly expression of his sunburnt face, the ease and the beauty of each movement of his lofty form, impressed you with the idea that in him you beheld one of those men who, though Nature meant them to be great and glorious, pass by humble and unheeded; happy if their innate power for good and for ill remains a secret; yes, happy are they if they are allowed to live and die as the many, with but few to love them and few to hate.

"Don't be sad, comrade," said Peti. "It's a long lane that has no turning. But go you must, for here you are in danger of your life. The election is at hand, and Mr. Skinner has every chance of losing his part in it. He will move heaven and earth to catch you. After I met you this afternoon, the Pandurs arrested me, and took me to him. May the devil burn his bones! but he treated me cruelly: he was so savage that my hair stood on end. Had it not been for the younger Akosh (God bless him!), I'd be now taking my turn at the whipping-post. He has his spies among us; he did not mention their names, but certain it is that he knows of every step you take; I protest nothing short of a miracle can have saved you! But certainly if we had not agreed to meet by this fire, you could scarcely have escaped him. The landlord and his servants are bound and locked up in the cellar, and Pandurs, dressed up as peasants, watch in the inn. There are also Pandurs in your house; and the peasants have been ordered to arm themselves with pitchforks, and to sally out when the church-bells give the signal. When I was Mr. Skinner's prisoner he cursed me, and mentioned his preparations; I have found out that he said rather too little than too much."

Viola rose. "There are Pandurs in my house, and you tell me that my wife is ill?"

"Oh! do not mind her. Susi has left the house; she is as comfortable as a creature can be with the fever. They have taken her to the notary's house."

"To Tengelyi's? Is she a prisoner?"

"Oh, by no means; it's all Christian love and charity. Oh! friend, that same Christian love is a rare thing in these times. May God bless them for what they do for her!"

"Christian love and charity! Fine words! fine words!" muttered Viola. "But who tells you that this is not a snare? My wife is in the notary's hands, and with her my life."

"For once you are mistaken!" cried the gipsy. "I, too, had my suspicions at first; why should I not? since I am no peer, but merely a gipsy. It's not my fault, surely, that I mistrust those officials; and when they told me that Susi was at the notary's, I did not half like it. But I understood that old Tengelyi knew nothing at all about it, and that his daughter, Vilma, did it all. Now Vilma is a born angel, take my word for it. But do not stop here. I ought to be at St. Vilmosh before the sun rises, and every minute you stay is as much as your life is worth."

"I'll not stir a single step unless you tell me all about Susi. I cannot understand it."

Peti knew Viola too well not to yield to this peremptory demand; and he tried, therefore, to inform his friend, in as few words as possible, of all the particulars of Susi's illness. Viola, leaning on his fokosh, listened with eagerness. He stood so still, so motionless, that, but for the deep sighs which at times broke forth, he might have been mistaken for a statue.

"Poor, poor woman!" cried the robber at length, "has it indeed come to this? A beggar, eating the bread of charity! a vagabond, abiding under the roof of the stranger! God, God! what has she done that thy hand should strike her?"

"Let us be off!" urged Peti. "Your wife is all snug and comfortable, and we ought not to stand here like fools, railing at the injustice of the world. Besides, the day of settling our accounts is perhaps nearer than you think. I owe Mr. Skinner more than one turn. Cheer up, comrade! many a man has been in a worse scrape than you are, who got out of it after all."

"What do I care for myself? I am used to it. There is blood on my hands, and, perhaps, it is but just that Heaven's curse pursues me. But she, whom I love, – she, who never since her birth did harm to any one, – she, who stands by my side like an angel of light, withholding my arm from deeds of blood and vengeance! Oh! she kneels at church, and prays by the hour. That she loves me is her only crime, – why, then, should she be punished? Let them hunt me down – torment me; ay! let them hang me! what care I, if she is but safe and free from harm?"

"So she is!" cried Peti, impatiently. "She was never better off in her life, man! Come along, or else we are done for, and by your fault too!"

"Do you mean to tell me that none of the villagers helped her? – that none of them would shelter her?"

"No! I told you, no! the judge forbade it; and none of them dared to look at her."

"Very well; I mean to be quits with them. I never harmed any of them. None of them ever lost a single head of cattle; and now that my family are in distress, there is not one of them but thinks that this is as it ought to be. But Viola is the man to make bonfires of their houses!"

"You are right!" cried Peti, seizing the robber's hand. "A little revenge now and then serves your turn. It puts them on their guard! It reminds them that there is still some justice in this world. But come to St. Vilmosh. You are safe there, at least for a few days, for the kanaz7 there is one of our people. We will go down to him, and see what can be done."

"You had better go first; I have some business here."

"Where?" cried Peti, stopping his friend as the latter turned to leave the place.

"I tell you to go first to St. Vilmosh, and to wait for me at the kanaz's. I want to speak to the notary. By the time the sun rises I mean to be with you. Get something to eat, for I am hungry."

"Maybe the ravens are hungry, and have told you to go and be hanged, to make a dinner for them!"

"What a coward you are! I tell thee, man, it is not so easy to catch Viola as you may think. Go and tell them to cook me some gulyash8; and if you think it will ease your mind, I will bring you the chief haiduk gagged and bound."

"All this were well and good if the people of Tissaret were still on your side, for in that case you might do as you please. But since the parson's house has been broken into, they are all against you, they will have it that you committed that robbery."

"I did no such thing; and it is just on that account I want to speak to Tengelyi. I have never been obliged to any man, who had the dress and appearance of a gentleman. The notary is the first of the kind to whom I owe any thing, and, by G – d, he shall not call me ungrateful."

"But of what use can your capture be to the notary?" said Peti, who now yielded to Viola's obstinacy, and accompanied him to the village.

"Some villany is abroad, and Tengelyi is to suffer. It's the same affair as it was with the parson. I'll inform him of it."

"Not to-night?"

"Ay, this very night! Who knows but to-morrow it might be too late? The birds are greedy for their prey. It will scarcely take me an hour. You ought to go to St. Vilmosh."

"Not I!" said the gipsy. "If you are mad, and won't be advised, you cannot, at least, force me to leave you alone in this scrape. If they hang you, they must hang me too."

Viola said nothing; but he pressed the hand of his faithful comrade. The two adventurers approached the village, where every thing was prepared for the capture of the robber. Not only was Viola's house occupied by the Pandurs, not only was the inn garrisoned, and its inmates gagged and bound, but the streets of Tissaret, and the cottages of those peasants who were suspected to be in communication with the robber, were occupied by soldiers, or, at least, closely watched. Rety's servants, armed with pitchforks and cudgels, were assembled in a barn, and every peasant was prepared, at the first signal from the steeple, to rush out and attack the outlaw. Some generous men, devoted to the public safety, and fearing for their cattle, and some not less generous women, had contributed a few hundred florins as a reward for that lucky peasant, or Pandur, who should succeed either in capturing or killing the robber. There could be but one opinion about Viola's fate, in case he should happen to come to Tissaret; but whether he would come or not was an open question, to say the least of it; for while the justice and his clerk were out hare-hunting, the inspector Kanya had thought proper to publish Mr. Skinner's instructions by means of the public crier, who, on this important occasion, was preceded by a couple of drums, and whose commands to the peasantry were backed by the threat of five-and-twenty lashes, as a punishment of the refractory or negligent; and though the justice on his return had poured out a most energetic volley of imprecations on Mr. Kanya and his zeal, and though he had immediately given orders that no one should be permitted to leave the village, yet there was good reason to fear that Viola would smell more than one rat. Indeed, so much probability was there for this supposition, that by the time Viola and Peti drew near to the village the inhabitants of Tissaret to a man had thought proper to retire for the night, leaving the soldiers and Pandurs to follow their example, which, to do them justice, they did.

"Wait a few moments," said Peti to his companion, when they came to the threshing-floors, "I'll look out for you. It is just here where they have placed a guard of those rascals in frogged jackets. I'll try to find out what they are after." Saying which, the old man crept through the ditch and disappeared. He returned almost immediately. "They are fast asleep. If the others are equally vigilant, we are safe enough." Viola advanced with Peti. They entered the village, and walked quickly, but noiselessly, along the hedges and under the shadow of the houses.

Tengelyi's house, the neatest building in the village, was on one side bordered by a narrow court-yard, and on the other by a garden of somewhat larger dimensions. The buildings in his immediate neighbourhood were on the one side the Town-hall, and on the other the workshop of the village smith; while over the way there was the only shop in Tissaret, the property of Itzig, the Jew, and remarkable, not only for its amazing stores of European and Indian produce, but also for its bright yellow paint, and its pillars of glaring sky-blue which ornamented the hall outside.

There were but two roads to Tengelyi's house – one leading by the Town-hall, and the other touching the smithie; and though the sound of a hammer ringing on the iron of the anvil was still to be heard from the last named place, still Peti thought it advisable to take the latter road, and this the more, since he perceived that there was no light in Itzig's house, – a circumstance which led him to suppose that that "toad of a Jew" had retired into the interior of his den, there to sleep on his dollars. Quitting, therefore, the dark corner between the smith's shop and the main road, the two men hastened up to the house of Tengelyi. The fire from the smithie threw a ruddy glare on the road and on the Jew's shop, the closed shutters of which seemed to denote that all the inmates had retired to rest. But while they were in the act of crossing the road, Peti suddenly seized Viola's hand, and pointing to the Jew's house, he whispered, "They have seen us!" A human form was indeed visible behind the pillars. It moved quickly to the door, and disappeared.

"Go to the notary's! Just by the wall there's a hole in the hedge. Creep through it, and hide yourself as best you may; but for God's sake don't enter the house! I'll come to fetch you as soon as the alarm is over."

So saying, Peti crossed the road and disappeared among the buildings. Viola hastening onward, found the opening in the hedge. He had scarcely crept through it and hidden himself among the shrubs, when he saw that the gipsy was fully justified in his apprehensions. Voices were heard in the streets, lanthorns were carried by, and the quick tramp of steps, and the sound of the village bell, proved to him that the alarm was indeed given, and that the people of Tissaret were up and in arms to arrest him. Mr. Skinner's and Mr. Kenihazy's answering imprecations might have proved, to any one who doubted the fact, that the public justice of this country is not always asleep, but that its eyes are sometimes open as late as 10h. 30m. P.M.

Viola was in a dangerous position. The notary's garden was but an indifferent hiding-place. It was small, and but thinly planted with trees. A strong light from the windows of the house illumined part of it, and nothing could save Viola, if the hole in the hedge was discovered, and a lanthorn passed through it. But the robber was accustomed to danger. He kept his weapons in readiness and waited. After some time the noise of the robber hunters grew gradually less. The crowd rushed to another part of the village. The sound of distant voices and the continued ringing of the bell showed that the danger was at least in part over.

On these occasions it is only the first quarter of an hour which is dangerous in our country; after that 'mauvais quart d'heure' has once passed, there is none but seeks for an excuse for discontinuing the search. For we are an Eastern people, nor did we come to the West to toil and slave. Indeed, that man was a profound historian who protested that our ancestors left their homes in search of a country where the sun rose late, and allowed them to sleep longer than they could in their former abodes. Viola, who had often been hunted, and who was perfectly familiar with the leading features of our national character, rose from the ground and walked boldly up to the house.

That house harboured his wife, the only being on the face of the earth who loved him; the only being he could call his own, and whose mild words made him feel that, though exiled, pursued, and condemned, there was still something which he could call his own, which the world could not take from him, and which bound him to life and to his Creator. And Viola's heart, however unmoved by danger, beat loud and fast when, creeping by the windows of the house, he stopped at length in front of the one window for which he sought. Everything was tranquil in that room. His wife lay sleeping, and Vilma sat by her side, watching her, while the old Liptaka was seated at some distance, reading her Bible, and rocking a cradle. His little boy lay in an arm-chair. He was fast asleep. The robber looked long and earnestly at the group before him. He wept.

The child in the cradle awoke. Old Mother Liptaka took it up and carried it to and fro. Little Pishta too awoke; he rubbed his eyes and stared around, as if uncertain where he was, or how he came to be there. But looking up to the window he beheld Viola, and jumping from the chair he clasped his hands and shouted – "Father! father!"

"God forbid that he should be here!" said Mother Liptaka, walking up to the window. "You are half asleep, child, and talk in a dream: you see there is no one here."

"He is not there now, – but he was there. He is gone now, but I am sure he is in the garden. I will go and call him in."

"Don't think of it!" said the Liptaka, seizing the boy's hand. "You know your father is – " Here the good woman stopped, for she was at a loss to find gentle words for a harsh fact.

"I know!" said the boy, "my father must hide himself; but I am sure it is not true, what they say about his being a robber."

"Of course not, child: be quiet, and don't say a word about it, not even to Miss Vilma. I will go, and if your father is in the garden, I'll speak to him." And the old woman left the room.

Viola's situation had meanwhile become more dangerous. When he retired from the window where his boy recognised him, he found that his movements were watched by a man, who stood in the opening through which he had entered the garden, and who withdrew when the robber's face turned in the direction of the hedge. Viola was at a loss what to do. He could not stay in the garden, for it was too small; the streets were filled with peasants and Pandurs, and the inmates of the house were strangers to him. He could not trust his life to their keeping. The tocsin was again sounded, and the approach of lights and steps showed him that his pursuers were aware of his hiding-place, and that they came to take him.

At this critical moment the Liptaka entered the garden, and called the robber by his name. Seeing no other means of escape, he walked up to her and informed her of the danger of his situation.

"Ay, brother, why did you come this blessed night?" said the old woman. "Two days later you might have been safe."

"But what is to be done? Can you hide me in the house?"

"I can, for the notary is not in, and Vilma will not betray you. Stand here until I call you." She returned into the house, and Viola stood up against the wall to hide himself. The noise increased meanwhile, and the sonorous voice of the justice was heard, denouncing the eyes, souls, and limbs of his trusty Pandurs, when the door opened, and the Liptaka appeared, motioning Viola to advance cautiously, lest the light from the windows might mark his figure: the robber crept along the wall and entered the house.

"Where is he? where?" screamed Mr. Skinner, from the other side of the hedge.

"Steady, boys!" shouted his clerk, from the furthest rear. "At him! Why should you fear the scoundrel? The man that catches and binds him shall have a hundred florins."

"Are any of you at the other side of the garden?" bawled the commissioner, with a stentorian voice.

Nobody answered.

"Smash your souls, you cursed hellhounds!" roared Mr. Skinner. "Why are you all here? Why are you not at the other side of the garden?"

"Your lordship's lordship told us to come to this place," said a Pandur; but a blow from Paul Skinner's stalwart arm sent him sprawling to the ground. "Be off!" shouted the intrepid justice; "be off a few of you – but not too many. Seize him and bind him!"

"Shoot him on the spot, if he shows fight," urged the clerk.

"Shoot him – indeed!" roared the justice. "I'll brain the man that dares to shoot him, for I must have the satisfaction of hanging the fellow."

Amidst these preparations for the capture of the robber, the person "wanted" had quietly entered the house, where old Liptaka stowed him away behind some casks, which lay in the room. Vilma trembled.

"Fear not, Missie," said the Liptaka; "they dare not enter this house. Of course, if it were a poor man's case, they'd ransack every corner, and turn the whole house out of the window. But it's a different thing with a nobleman's curia."

The Liptaka was mistaken, and she had soon ample opportunity of convincing herself of the fact that the keeping of the law is one thing, and the law itself another. For Mr. Paul Skinner, after surrounding the garden on all sides, and after summoning Viola to come forward and be hanged, found it necessary to proceed to a close investigation of the premises. He opened the garden door and entered with his posse of Pandurs and peasants. Vilma's flowers and Mrs. Ershebet's broccolis were alike trodden down by the intruders, and great exertions were made to start the game. But their search was fruitless. So were their curses. Mr. Skinner protested that the robber must be hid in the house, and Kenihazy instantly suggested the propriety of searching the suspected habitation. The justice consented, and walked up to the door which communicated between the house and the garden, when the door was opened from the inside, and Mrs. Ershebet appeared on the threshold.