Kitabı oku: «The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life», sayfa 13

NOTES TO VOL. I

Note I.
COURTS-MARTIAL

The Statarium of the old Hungarian law is not exactly what is known in other European countries under the name of court-martial, though it has some affinity with that institution. Whenever housebreaking, highway robberies, and arson were rife in any of the Hungarian counties, the Palatine was empowered to give them the right of statarium for any term of months not exceeding one year, for the more efficient prevention of crime, and for the apprehension and punishment of the malefactors.

The Statarium, as an exceptional court, was composed of seven judges, who were appointed for the year, and empowered to take cognizance of and give judgment in any cases of robbery and arson that were committed in the county, provided always that the culprit was taken "in flagranti delicto," or "in continuâ persecutione," either in the act or immediately after, he being incessantly pursued all the while. In these cases the court gave summary judgment without appeal, and the only verdict they were empowered to pronounce was a capital sentence. The culprit, if convicted, was hanged on the spot.

To make out a conviction, it was necessary that all the judges should agree. A single dissentient voice was enough to overthrow the verdict and to bring the culprit within the jurisdiction of the ordinary courts.

The minutes of the proceedings of the courts-martial, and the depositions of the witnesses, were sent to the Palatine, and examined by a commissioner; and the judges of the Statarium were responsible for each case.

It was moreover an old popular prejudice, that a prisoner ought not to be "roofed," that is to say, that he ought not to be confined in a gaol or house, if he was to be judged by a Statarium. In compliance with this prejudice, which, however, had no foundation in the laws of Hungary, the culprits were usually chained to a post in the open air.

Note II.
JAROMIR AND ANGYALBANDI

The name of Jaromir, the Bohemian brigand, is probably known to the readers of German romances of the last thirty years. The story of his noble descent, guilty love, and wretched end, no matter whether a mere fiction or founded on facts, has been handed down through successive generations. The adventures of Jaromir obtained their acmé of popularity by Grillparzer's drama, "Die Ahnfrau," and by the lines, —

 
"Ja, ich bin's den du genannt!
Bin's den jene Häscher suchen,
Bin's dem alle Lippen fluchen!
Der in des Bauers Nachtgebet,
Hart, nahe an dem Teufel steht.
 

* * * * *

 
Ich bin der Räuber, Jaromir!"
 

Angyalbandi is a much more real personage than Jaromir. The facts of his case are of less dramatic interest, though certainly of greater truth, than the adventures of the Bohemian robber and his bride.

The name of Angyalbandi, for many years the terror of all the landed proprietors in Upper Hungary, was a nomme de guerre, which covered the aristocratic and truly respectable name of the Onodys. A member of that family, the Baron Onody, was so strongly gifted with those roving and robbing propensities which distinguished his Scythian ancestors, that he would leave his country seat near Mishkolz for days and weeks together, for the purpose of cattle-stealing. His talents in that line, his strength, activity, and boldness, filled the whole country with fear; and no nobleman or peasant thought his flocks safe from Angyalbandi's depredations, for the robber foiled all watchfulness and outran all pursuit. It so happened, in one of his expeditions, that he fell in with some fine horses near Debrezin; but his attempt to carry them off was discovered, the tocsin was sounded, and the chase commenced. Angyalbandi fled, and with the same horse he swam through the Theiss and the Danube – a feat which his pursuers did not care to imitate. After a long and successful career, Baron Onody was at length suspected, and his identity with Angyalbandi was established on the occasion of some business which he transacted at Kashau. His privilege of nobility saved him from incarceration, for as he had not been discovered "in flagranti," he was admitted to bail. While his process was under the consideration of the High Court, Mr. Atzel, the judge advocate, had an accident on the road near Mishkolz. His carriage was overturned, and the axletree broken.

Mr. Atzel and his servants called for help, and, seeing a gentleman approaching in the distance, they walked up to him, and asked him to assist them in finding a wheelwright. He informed them that no wheelwright was to be found in that part of the country; "but," added he, "never mind; I will give my orders, and see your carriage taken to Mishkolz, where they will put it to rights. Come to my house, and stay with me."

"Indeed," said Mr. Atzel, "I'm very much obliged to you. I would not pass a night in one of your wretched village inns on any consideration; but to stay at a gentleman's seat is a different thing altogether. Are your servants well armed?"

"We have got some rifles, though there is little chance of using them. I am afraid you are a nervous subject, sir. Perhaps you are not accustomed to this part of the country?"

"Indeed I am not! I know it only from its bad reputation. And, of all men, I am in the greatest danger in this county, for I understand it is somewhere hereabout that Baron Onody lives. His case is in my hands, and I hope to get a verdict against him, and see him hanged."

"Indeed? Do you know Baron Onody?"

"By no means," replied Mr. Atzel; "nor do I wish for his acquaintance."

"'Tis a pity, for you might make it with the greatest ease. He lives close by. Do you see that house on the hill? It's one of his farms."

"For God's sake, sir!" cried the lawyer, "let us make haste to your house and to your rifles. If Onody knew I was so near him, he would spare me as little as I intend to spare him!"

Thus urged, the stranger led Mr. Atzel to his house; supper was served, and the two men talked of Onody, his robberies, and the politics of the county, till a late hour, when the stranger rose, and, addressing his guest, "Mr. Atzel," said he, "from all you have told me, I see that you have a worse opinion of that poor fellow Onody than I have. He – "

"He's a vagabond, sir! a disgrace to his station – "

"Pray don't be personal, sir! I am the Baron Onody!"

Nothing can equal the dismay of the poor judge advocate. His host continued:

"I am not half so bad as you believe me to be. You've told me I can expect no mercy at your hands. You've sworn to my face that you will not rest until you see me hanged. Now I would not hurt you, though I could. You've had your supper. You will have a good bed to sleep in, and a breakfast in the morning. I will send you to Mishkolz with my own horses. That's what I, Onody or Angyalbandi the robber, do to you. Now consider what are your intentions towards me, and tell me which is the worse man?"

Mr. Atzel was silent. We need not say that he passed a sleepless night, and that he congratulated himself on his good fortune when he was safe in Kashau. But so great was the impression which Onody's generosity had made upon him, that he exerted himself to the utmost to influence the Court in the culprit's favour; and the result was, that Baron Onody, instead of receiving a capital sentence, was condemned to twelve months' confinement in the county gaol of Kashau. His term of imprisonment over, he returned to his seat near Mishkolz, where he lived quietly and honestly, without ever stirring from his own estates; "lest," as he used to say, "the sight of some fine oxen or horses might again tempt him to a robber's life."

Note III.
ACTIO

The Hungarian law has certain provisions for the purpose of limiting and regulating the liberty of speech of political and judicial assemblies. A speaker who oversteps the limits of decency, or who indulges in personal abuse, is punished by the infliction of a fine of twenty-five florins. If he is not able to pay the amount of the fine on the spot, he is at liberty to leave his ring or his sword as a pledge, and to redeem them by the payment of eighty florins. The person who decides on a breach of order is the Recorder of the county; but when a speaker is very offensive, the person or persons aggrieved signify their wish for the Recorder's interference by loud cries of "Actio! Actio!"

Note IV.
NAGYIDAI NOTA

The song of Nagyida. Nagyida is a small fortress in Hungary which, during the insurrection of Rakotzi, was garrisoned by a troop of gipsies, who defended it against an Austrian corps, and whose patriotic devotion was proof against the bribes and the attacks of the Austrian besieging army. Reduced at length to great distress, and without victuals and ammunition, the gipsies made so violent and bold a sortie from their fortress, that they broke through and routed the ranks of the Imperialists.

The Austrians fled in great confusion; and it was in the heat of the pursuit that a gipsy called after an Austrian officer, whose quickness of foot he was unable to compete with, "Run, you rascal! You are safe enough; but trust me, we would not let you off so easily, if we had half-a-pound of gunpowder left!"

Upon this, the Austrians rallied. They returned, stormed the fortress of Nagyida, and put the garrison to the sword. The song of the Nagyida, like the romance of the fall of Alhama, relates the history of that defeat, and bewails the sufferings of the gipsies. They keep the melody to themselves, and nothing can induce them to play or sing it to any one who is not of their tribe.

Note V.
KANAZ

A Kanaz is a swineherd. In the summer and autumn, the swine are turned out into the forest to fatten on acorns. Their keepers, who live almost always in the woods, and apart from the rest of the rural population, have repeatedly, and perhaps not unjustly, been accused of aiding and abetting the various bands of robbers, which, in consequence of Austrian misgovernment, have from time to time infested the counties of Upper Hungary.

Note VI.
GULYASHUS; PÖRKÖLT; TARHONYA

A great deal might be said on the subject of Hungarian cookery; but we confine ourselves to three dishes, which stand in that country in lieu of the beef, puddings, and dumplings of Old England.

Gulyashus is made of beef, mutton, and bacon, cut in squares, and stewed with Hungarian pepper (Paprica), spices, and onions. It is very much like an Irish stew, without the potatoes.

Pörkölt is beef cut in slices, and roasted with paprica, and without any gravy.

Tarhonya has some resemblance with the Kuskusu of the Arabs. It is a kind of cake or pudding of stale and dried dough, which they fry with bacon or boil in milk.

Note VII.
PROTEST

A forcible entry into a house, or the seizure of goods and chattels on the premises of a nobleman, could be prevented by the owner of the house, or his representative, protesting against the proceedings. His protest was justified only in the case of a violation of forms. If the defendant was of opinion that such a violation had taken place, he seized a stick or a sword, and holding it up, he exclaimed: "I protest." Upon this the officers of justice were bound to stay the proceedings, and to leave the premises; while the defendant was equally obliged, within a reasonable time, to make his appearance in court, and to plead in justification of his protest. If his plea was disallowed, he was usually fined for vexatious opposition. If, on the contrary, the court admitted the validity of the plea, the cause was argued ab initio; and in this second suit, no opposition to stay proceedings was admissible.

We will take this opportunity to say a few words about the terms "nobleman" and "peasant," which frequently occur in "The Village Notary," and indeed in most Hungarian works. The term nobleman, in the general Hungarian acceptation, means neither more nor less than a freeman; and the peasant, as the unprivileged class of the population, may be said to be in a state of villanage. The privileges of the Hungarian constitution, namely, liberty of speech, freedom from unwarranted arrest, the privilege of not being subjected to corporal punishment, the right to elect their own magistrates, and a variety of similar immunities, are, in all the charters, described in terms which for a long time caused them to be confined to the descendants of the ancient conquerors of the country, or to those persons who obtained the freedom of Hungary by a grant of royal letters patent.

The rest of the community, the Jews, Razen, gipsies, Russniaks, and other tribes, are mentioned as "hospites," guests or strangers, who have no political rights. Whether bound to the soil, like the peasants, or migratory, like the Jews and gipsies, the "hospites" were alike unprotected by law and at the mercy of all the whims, neglects, and cruelties of a legislature, which bears traces at once of the fierceness of their Turkish neighbours and the pedantic vindictiveness of the Hapsburgs. It was to break the yoke which for many centuries weighed down upon the unfortunate "villains" and "aliens" of Hungary, that the Reform party exerted itself against the Hungarian Conservatives and the Court of Vienna.

Note VIII.
TSHIKOSH AND GULYASH

The former are persons who have the care of horses in the pasturage; while the latter are the herdsmen of horned cattle. The Tshikosh and Gulyash, like the Kanaz or swineherds, are a fierce and indomitable race, inured to fatigue and the severity of the weather, active and enduring. In the late attempted war of liberation, the Tshikosh were formidable enemies to the Austrian cavalry, whom they pulled down with a peculiar whip, consisting of a short handle with a long leather thong and a leaden bullet at the end of it, and which they used very much as the Texans and Mexicans do the lasso.

Note IX.
TURKEY

The Hungarians still indulge in symbolic cookery. A welcome and honoured guest is sure to be regaled with a turkey; while the serving up of a sucking-pig, no matter how well roasted, is a hint to the stranger that his presence is not agreeable to the family which he visits.

Note X.
GATYA

The linen trowsers which the Hungarian peasants wear have the name of Gatya. They are a distinguishing feature in the dress of the peasant population.

Note XI.
SZEGENY LEGENY

The verbal translation of szegeny legeny is "poor fellows" – that is to say, robbers. The tender regard of the Hungarian peasantry for robbers, and the almost endearing name which the people gave them, is in itself a proof of misgovernment and the perversion of justice.

Note XII.
"I EAT HIS SOUL!" AND "I EAT HIS HEART!"

These are phrases of great tenderness, which the lower classes in Hungary are in the habit of using, especially when speaking of their children, or of those whom they treat as such. Of course the diet would not agree with an English stomach.

Note XIII.
DERESH

The "Deresh" is a bench on which culprits are whipped. A Hungarian freeman is exempt from corporal punishment; but the persons who are in a state of villanage are but too frequently exposed to the most brutal treatment. Every traveller in the Austrian countries is struck with the frequent use of the words "whipping" and "hanging," which seem to be standard expressions of an Austrian discourse. These two great nostrums for the cure of all the vices that society is heir to, have been liberally introduced into all the Crownlands; and it was against the spirit and the practice of such abuses that the Magyar party in Hungary directed their opposition.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME

THE VILLAGE NOTARY.
VOL. II

CHAPTER I

"The Hungarian's joy is in tears," says the old proverb. And why not? Since the features of the parent tribe are handed down from one generation to another, there is nothing more natural than that we should retain the historical features of our ancestors, viz., the stamp of gravity which the events of their time impressed upon their faces. The Hungarians of old had good cause for weeping. Other nations have recovered from the wounds of the past; and, however sad their popular melodies may be (for they sprang from a time of sorrow and sadness), the lamentations of the old text have given way to merry words. But the lower classes in our country have very little to laugh at, even in these days of universal prosperity. Their songs are sad, as they were in the days when the crescent shone from the battlements of Buda. For there are people who are ignorant of all history but that of their own village, and who, consequently, have no idea that there has been any change in our country ever since the expulsion of the Turks. The peculiar gravity which characterises the Magyars is partly a historical reminiscence and partly the result of that gloomy tract of our country which is chiefly inhabited by the Magyar population. What traveller can traverse our vast plains, and keep his temper? The virgin forest, which at one time covered that plain, is gone; the powerful life of Nature is fled; the impenetrable foliage which overshadowed this fertile soil has fallen under the axe. The many-voiced carol of birds, and the merry sports of the greenwood, where are they? The forest land has become a heath, but we have little cause for rejoicing at our victory over Nature. The inhabitants of other countries see many things to gladden their hearts. Houses, trees, hedges, and corn-fields, reminding them of the thrift of their ancestors, spur them on to increased activity, and inspire them with a desire to fashion the land into a monument of their existence. Our Pusztas have nothing of the kind. All is silent and desolate, filling the mind with sad thoughts. Many generations passed over them without leaving a trace of their existence; and the traveller, as he pursues his solitary way across the heath, feels the mournful conviction that he too steps onward to the grave, that the plain will cover him as a boundless ocean.

It was past noon when Susi, accompanied by the Liptaka, quitted the village. They halted near the outer Tsharda, from whence the Liptaka returned to Tissaret, while Susi, with a small bundle of provisions under her arm, proceeded on the road to Kishlak, where she expected to find the Gulyash who was to give her news of Viola. The Tanya of the Gulyash was full seven miles distant from Tissaret, and, as the poor woman trudged on, she became painfully sensible of the effects of her late illness. More than once was she compelled to rest by the road-side, where the cold wind stiffened her limbs; and when she looked around on the vast heath, she felt overpowered by her own loneliness and the stillness around her. She remembered having heard some talk of wolves; she thought of her children and of her husband, who at that moment was perhaps struggling with fresh dangers; and she hurried on, not because she had rested, but because she was restless. Her anxiety increased as she felt that her weakness would not allow her to reach her journey's end before nightfall. The train of her thoughts was at one time interrupted by the quick trotting of a horse: her heart beat quick as she looked back, expecting to see Viola riding after her. The horseman was Kalman Kishlaki on his journey homewards. Thus disappointed, she crept on to the stone cross, which stands on the borders of the Kishlaki property. She sat down on the steps, and thought of the weary hearts that had shaken off their load of sorrow in looking up to the image of Him who came to this world to share our sorrows; and her heavy heart became lighter as she remembered that Christ died, not for the rich and the powerful, but for the poor, abandoned, and persecuted.

She was about to rise and pursue her journey, when somebody called her by her name. She turned round and shuddered, for the person who called her was Tzifra. She had never been able to look at Tzifra without a shudder. She knew the man. She knew that he was the cause of any cruelty which Viola's comrades had ever committed; and, however much she loved her husband, she felt uncomfortable, and disgusted, whenever she saw him in Tzifra's company. Viola had of late suspected Tzifra, and Susi remembered that her husband had often called him his Judas. These circumstances will serve to explain the fear with which the poor woman beheld the robber, who, leaning on his staff, looked down at her with a strange smile, which gave a still more repulsive expression to his features. "Where are you bound to?" said he.

"I'm going to see the Gulyash at Kishlak."

"Running after your husband, I dare say? Possibly the Gulyash knows where he is. What news is there in your village?"

"You ought to know it," replied Susi. "They tell me you were there with my husband?"

"Do you mean to say with Viola? Why, was he in the village?"

"Are you indeed ignorant of that robbery – you know, at the notary's?"

"Ah! I understand they've sacked his house. Well, didn't I say as much? When they told me that Viola came to the house, I knew the affair would end in a robbery. There isn't the like of Viola in three counties; there's no joking with him!"

"Don't talk in this way! I'll never believe that Viola had a hand in it."

"All I know is, that I don't know any thing about it – but who can have done it?"

"They say you did it."

"They say? Who says so? Is it Peti, the gipsy?"

"I have not seen Peti since he went to Dustbury; but the smith who pursued you told me so."

"Whoever says so is mad, and the smith more than any. He'd not live to boast of his boldness if he'd dared to run after me. I'd like to know what he pretends to have known me by? not my bunda, I hope. Curse me if it's dirtier than any body else's! Good bye; it's time for me to be off!" And the robber turned into the road which led to Garatsh. As Susi looked after him, a carriage passed her with Mr. Catspaw, who was on his way to the same place. He overtook Tzifra; the carriage stopped, and after a short conversation, the robber jumped on the back seat, and the carriage drove off.

Susi was greatly astonished. She walked as fast as she could; but still darkness began to set in when she reached the Tanya, where she found the Gulyash and Peti.

"Have you seen any thing of Tzifra?" asked the gipsy.

"Yes, I have."

"Where was he?"

Susi told them of her meeting with the robber. Peti listened with deep anxiety, and his features expressed the greatest despair when she told him that Mr. Catspaw had taken the robber with him to Garatsh.

"He's dished!" cried he at length. "He's done for! If I don't come in time, they'll nab him!"

"For God's sake, what is the matter?" said Susi, trembling.

"I can't, I must be off! Ishtvan will tell you all about it. I'll take the shortest road to the St. Vilmosh forest; get your horses, and come after me as fast as you can. You know the place. Perhaps we can manage to reach it before the justice's men. The Theiss has not run over this season; so, for God's sake, Ishtvan, don't spare your horses!" And the gipsy started off at the top of his speed.

Susi was at a loss to understand the behaviour of the two men: but seeing clearly that some danger threatened her husband, she asked with a trembling voice what had happened.

"Nothing for the present. Be of good cheer, Susi," said the Gulyash; "if any thing should befall Viola, confound it, I'll hang myself; but I'll kill that rascal Tzifra first!"

"But what is it? Oh do, for God's sake! for mercy's sake! tell me!" sighed Susi, as they entered the cottage. She sat down by the fire, and the Gulyash informed her, with many imprecations at his want of foresight, that Viola was in an awkward scrape, if not worse. Immediately after the robbery, the details of which came now first to the ears of Susi, her husband had come to the Tanya and instructed Ishtvan, who was in daily communication with the gang, to direct Peti, or any other of his comrades who might seek him, to their usual haunt in the forest of St. Vilmosh, where he intended to conceal himself until the affair was blown over, and until he could manage to restore the papers to Tengelyi. He had also asked the Gulyash to send him provisions for the next few days. The Gulyash knew nothing of Tzifra's treachery, for Viola had forgotten to inform him of it. Peti, too, had not seen the man ever since he had listened to Tzifra's conversation with the Jew; and it was therefore but natural that when Tzifra called that afternoon and asked for Viola, the Gulyash should have given him a culatsh of wine and some meat, and that he should have told him where Viola was to be found.

Peti arrived an hour later, and from him he learnt that the secret had been entrusted to a traitor. After what Susi had seen, there could be no doubt as to Tzifra's intentions, and the poor woman was in despair when she thought of her husband's danger. It was now about two hours since she met Tzifra. Garatsh was full three miles nearer to the St. Vilmosh forest, and there were hussars, horses, and policemen in the justice's house. She had no means of reaching Viola's haunt. There was no hope for him.

"I wish to God my cart would come! It ought to be here by this time, for 'tis two hours since I sent it to the village. I'll spoil that fellow's tricks if I get my horses in time. Don't grieve, Susi, my soul! these judges are not half so quick as you fancy, especially after the election. Besides, who knows whether he's at home? Peti told me that the lord-lieutenant had sent him to inquire into this business. D – n the lord-lieutenant! and d – n me too! Why didn't the devil crush me with his thirty-three thousand thunderbolts when I opened my lips to the traitor! Now don't be frightened, Susi, my soul! we are sure to be in time. My horses are the best in the county; but who the devil would have thought that Tzifra is such a scurvy beggar? He's been a robber these thirty years and more, and for all that he'll blow upon a pal, d – n me! The fellow had scarcely gone, when young Mr. Kalman came and told me of the notary having lost his papers, asking me to get them, and to tell him where Viola was to be found. He entreated me for mercy's sake, and then he cursed me; but I would not tell him; and the other fellow, the dog, got it all out of me!"

At this moment they heard the rattling of the cart. Taking his axe and bunda, he shouted with joy.

"Holloa! here are my horses!"

The cart, drawn by two stout yellow horses, stopped at the door.

"Come, Susi, take the back seat, and wrap yourself up," said he, helping her to mount. "And you may go to the devil!" he added, addressing the driver, as he took the reins; "I'll teach you to stop at the pot-house, you young cur!"

The horses started off across the plain. The sound of the wheels was lost in the distance, and the dogs that had followed it, barking and yelping, had come back from what they considered a fruitless chase. But Bandi, the driver, stood blocklike in the same place, still staring in the direction in which the cart had disappeared. He scratched his head, which Ishtvan had touched with rather a rough hand. At length he exclaimed, "I hope Ishtvan won't steal Viola's wife!"